


Finer Gods

by icantloseyoutoo



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bartender Bellamy Blake, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Hurt Bellamy, Hurt Clarke, Med Student Clarke, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Protective Bellamy, Protective Clarke, minor flarke but only at the start
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-01-15 02:24:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18489349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantloseyoutoo/pseuds/icantloseyoutoo
Summary: When Clarke Griffin walks in to the new bar on campus at Arkadia University, she has no idea she's about to set off a chain of events that will change the course of her life forever. Strange things start to happen around her, and the life she once knew unravels before her eyes. With the help of the gruff bartender Bellamy Blake, will she be able to solve the mysteries around her before it's too late?





	1. Symposium

**Author's Note:**

> Title of the fic is taken from a poem by George Abraham called "self-portrait as melting clock"
> 
> “I’ve seen finer gods than you, child. & I’ve swallowed them whole” – George Abraham
> 
>    
> you can find an aesthetic for the fic on my Tumblr: aesthetics-and-more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Symposium - a drinking party or convivial discussion, especially as held in ancient Greece after a banquet

“Push 1 of epi!” Clarke shouted over the bleeps of monitors and the commotion of the room.

She continued CPR as Jackson responded coolly, “1 of epi going in now.” A quick flit of her eyes up to the screen above her showed no change in the patient’s heart rhythm.

 _Dammit_ , she thought, _still VFib_.

“Okay everyone, stand clear,” she ordered, sounding calm despite the nerves shaking her on the inside. “Shocking now.” Clarke pressed the button on the defibrillator, hoping to see an improvement in the patient’s status. A flicker of hope as she saw something change, but before she could continue, she was interrupted by Jackson calling out-

“And… Time!” He clicked his stopwatch off and scribbled something on his clipboard. “That’s your 10 minutes up – last station of the day, you can go home now.” He smiled up at her, his expression faltering when he saw her face. 

“What? But I had it, he was improving! You can’t call time now, I almost got him back!” She sounded exasperated, gesturing wildly to the machines by the bedside.

Jackson put down the clipboard and closed the distance between them. “Clarke. Hate to break it to you but he was never gonna get back up.” In one swift motion he pulled the sheet off the bed, revealing the patient Clarke had been working on, “He’s plastic.” He lifted the mannequin up as if to prove it, manipulating its mouth to make it look like it was speaking. “ _Hello Clarke, thanks for trying to save my life, but I don’t have a brain!”_

She knew he was just trying to cheer her up; she’d known Jackson since she first started med school – before he’d even graduated – and by some twist of fate he happened to be one of the doctors marking the practical stations of her exams. Despite that good luck (and Jackson’s good mood), for some reason it just irritated Clarke more. “Yeah, whatever.” She huffed and pulled back the curtain around their bay, revealing the rest of her class filing out of the simulation lab. “How long until we get the results?”

“Fairly quickly, it’s just a mock so the process isn’t as strict.”

Clarke simply nodded in response, joining the other students and heading out of the room, her mind still running through everything that happened in the exam. As stupid as it sounded to think, it bothered her that she didn’t have enough time to save that hunk of plastic and rubber. She was so much better with real people, where she could feel and see the difference she was making. But she did everything she should have done, and that was enough to placate her for now.

The pleasant chirp of Clarke’s phone snapped her out of her thoughts, and she grinned as she read the text.

_Raven: Closed Mecha early today – drinks?_

Raven had followed the text with several emojis of beer, cocktails and champagne bottles to tempt her to accept her offer, but Clarke was way ahead of her, tapping in a reply.

_Clarke: You read my mind. Want to get everyone together and check out that new place on campus? It opens a little later but I need to change out of my scrubs._

_Raven: Perfect – gotta shower off all this grease anyway. I think it looks sexy in a smudged, smoky kinda way but Sinclair keeps telling me “it’s unprofessional Raven” and “the customers are scared to shake hands with you Raven” … what a hardass, right?_

Clarke snorts at Raven’s response and tucks her phone back in her scrub pocket. She knows Raven is only joking about Sinclair; he took a chance on her when she was struggling to find her feet in Arkadia and gave her a job at his workshop. Now she was one of his best mechanics, and he’s become a great mentor to her.

Friendship with Raven wasn’t something Clarke had initially thought was on the cards, considering the circumstances when they first met. She cast her mind back to that night, first remembering the smell of food.

_Clarke was dicing the onions quickly and with the precision of someone who knows their way around a scalpel – laser-focused on getting it just right. She felt a pair of hands wrap around her hips from behind, and familiar lips pressed into her neck for a quick kiss. “Smells good,” Finn commented, pulling her closer into him. “Can I help?”_

_“No way, it’s your birthday, you’re not supposed to do any work today.” She smiled, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “Sit back down, I’m almost finished.” They’d been together for 6 months now, and ever since the first date he’d been the perfect boyfriend; even her mother loved him, so she wanted to do something special today. So, Clarke had come over to his apartment to cook him his favourite – seafood paella._

_He groaned in mock frustration, “But if I’m sitting down then I can’t do this,” he took the knife from her hand and put it down on the side, turning her around to face him and pulling her in to a passionate kiss. She responded in kind, wrapping her arms behind his neck as his hands trailed down to her hemline. “That dress is driving me insane,” he muttered between kisses, and Clarke grinned. She was wearing a close-cut black dress with lace sleeves and a neckline that showed her cleavage, cutting off at mid-thigh. “What are you gonna do about it?” she challenged, her eyes meeting his with a daring glint. Finn broke away for a split second to clear the counter behind her, then picked her up and set her perched upon the work surface, now eye-level with each other. “I’m gonna do this,” he breathed, trailing kisses from her lips down her jawline and neck, squeezing her breasts and eventually his hands reached her thighs, where he tracked a finger teasingly up to her underwear, tracing the lace detailing on her thong. Clarke whimpered as he reached a sensitive area and pulled him in for a kiss, out of equal parts desperation and frustration. He kept one hand massaging her breast and the other tugged her underwear to the side, his finger just about to—_

_“What the fuck is this?” the voice caused them to jolt apart, and Clarke looked to its owner in confusion. A striking girl with big eyes and long brown hair pulled into a ponytail had just entered the room. “Finn? Care to explain why your tongue’s down another girl’s throat?” She stood with one hip jutting out, displaying confidence, but her voice betrayed hurt beneath the anger._

_A quizzical glance to Finn, who Clarke could swear was a few shades whiter than he was a minute ago, filled in the blanks for her. “Oh my god… Finn, who is this?” She pushed herself off the counter and stepped away from him. “Have you been cheating on me?”_

_The girl scoffed. “Sweetie he’s not cheating on_ you _, he’s cheating on_ me _. I’m Raven.” She looked Finn dead in the eyes. “His girlfriend.”_

It had been an awkward conversation, watching Finn fumble to find an excuse. Clarke and Raven had both stormed out of his apartment feeling betrayed, embarrassed and angry, admittedly a little at each other at first but they soon realised it was misplaced. Instead of wasting it on Finn, Clarke offered to share the reservation she had made at a fancy cocktail bar for Finn’s birthday with Raven, and the two of them got to know each other and drank half the bar’s stock. They talked about how Raven had lived in Polis where she met Finn – they were high school sweethearts and became long-distance when Finn moved to study at Arkadia University. She had come to surprise him with the news that she’d finally saved up enough to rent an apartment in Arkadia, and his birthday present was going to be a copy of her key. Clarke felt awful. Finn had made her into ‘the other woman’, and she was partly responsible for this badass woman being heartbroken after just moving to a new city. But once they finished talking about boys, they realised how well they clicked. That night they both lost a boyfriend but gained a best friend – and frankly it was the best trade Clarke had ever made. 

Clarke entered her apartment to find her roommate in downward dog on the living room floor. She was dressed in all black – yoga pants and a black tank top – that complemented the long black ponytail currently trailing on the floor. “Whatcha doing down there?” Clarke asked, startling the girl, who whipped her head up and stood up straight.

“Yoga,” she explained breathlessly. “My professor is putting on a class tomorrow and whoever does best gets a job as her teaching assistant when she puts on courses for the public.”

Clarke frowned. “Don’t you study dance? Like… classical ballet type dance?”

“Yeah but I could use the money. I don’t want to keep running to my brother to bail me out.” She explained. Clarke nodded in understanding. She knew Octavia hadn’t come from the same privileged background that she had enjoyed, so had told Octavia that she could help her out if she was ever in a tight spot. Octavia had insisted that wasn’t necessary. Clarke suspected she didn’t want to owe anyone anything, even if it was a friend.

“Hey, a few of us are gonna grab some drinks tonight, do you want to come?” Clarke offered.

“Ooh, where?” Octavia asked, looking interested.

Clarke struggled to think of the name. “That new place that just opened – I think it’s called Symposium?” Octavia’s expression faltered a little, but she recovered a smile quickly.

“Actually I’m pretty wiped, I think I’ll stay in. Tell everyone I say hi. Oh, and remind Jasper he owes me Taco Bell!” she laughed as she rolled up her yoga mat and retreated to her room.

Clarke did the same, throwing on jeans and a leather jacket over a sparkly halter top before making her way to the bar.

-

Symposium was otherworldly. The atmosphere inside was like nowhere else on campus – ceiling decorations that looked almost like silk floating in a breeze, gold accents on the white marble countertop of the bar, and an elegant mixture of wood, metal and stone detailing on the furniture inside. Clarke wondered what a bar this beautiful was doing in a heavily student-populated area, but her stream of thought was interrupted when she saw Raven’s red bomber jacket deeper in the bar.

As she approached the booth, she noticed everyone else had already arrived – Raven was downing shots with Jasper while Monty and Harper were cuddled up next to each other, Harper laughing at some comment Monty whispered in her ear. Harper was the first to notice her, giving her a warm smile and waving her over, shuffling to make room.

Raven slammed her last shot down on the table in triumph while Jasper groaned in defeat, leaving his last one on the table. “Ha! In your face Jordan!” she teased, wiping the excess liquid from her mouth with the back of her hand. Catching Clarke’s eye, she threw her arms around her in a hug. “Clarke!” a hint of a slur gave her away. “The bartender’s an asshole.”

“What do you mean?” Clarke asked as they sat down, scanning the room for staff.

“Jerk spilled a drink on me and tried to say it was _my_ fault. Arrogant prick.” She muttered, gesturing to a dark patch on her shirt.

Jasper was unaffected by her plight. “I don’t care whose fault it was; his boss saw the two of them arguing and gave us free shots so Raven would shut up about it – I take it as a win.” Raven glared and threw a scrunched-up napkin ball at his face, which he lazily dodged.

“To be fair Raven, you _did_ kinda run into the guy.” Monty pointed out, but threw his hands up in surrender as Raven prepared another napkin projectile.

Harper defused the situation. “Hey Clarke, the cocktails look awesome, they’re pretty cheap too – check them out.” She suggested, as Monty whispered a quick thanks to her for distracting Raven.

Mulling over the drinks menu Harper gave her, something caught her eye. All the classic cocktails were there, but there was something at the bottom of the list that Clarke had never heard of, and it had no description of the ingredients; just a name, and a symbol Clarke had never seen before. It almost seemed separated from the rest on the menu – on a line of its own, in a different font, and the price seemed _way_ off.

 _~ Pitcher of Ambrosia -_ _₯_ _1 ~_  

For some reason she found herself drawn to this item, but something told her not to ask the others about it. Instead she made her way to the bar, where she found a bartender drying glasses. He had a muscular build, thick dark hair and a smattering of freckles across his face. If Clarke wasn’t so distracted, she might say he was handsome. Noticing her arrival, he tossed the dishcloth over his shoulder and looked up at her expectantly. “What can I get you?”

She was thrown by the deepness of his voice for a moment but recovered quickly. “Uh, yeah, I have a question about the ambrosia – the price can’t be right there surely? I mean a dollar seems pretty cheap for a whole pitcher of a cocktail but then again that’s not the symbol for a dollar, so I was-”

She cut herself off when she saw his expression. At the mention of ambrosia, he froze still, and his eyes flitted between surprise and – what was that – anger? “We don’t serve that here.” He managed, his voice flat but sure.

She scoffed a little. “It’s on the menu, if you don’t serve it then why is it on the menu?”

“It’s _not_ on the menu, drop it.” He was gruffer now, throwing the cloth from his shoulder down onto the counter in one smooth motion.

“Well obviously it _is_ on the menu since I’m _asking_ you about it.” She said through gritted teeth. “Jesus, you think it’d be easy for a girl to order a drink at a freaking _bar_!” she exclaimed.

He sucked in a breath. “Okay Princess, you can either order something else or get out of my bar, how’s that? Once again – _we don’t serve that here_. Guess you’re not used to not getting your way, huh?”

What crawled up this guy’s ass? Sensing this argument was more trouble than it was worth, Clarke stormed back to the booth in a huff. “You were right Raven, the bartender _is_ a jerk.” She sighed, tipping her head towards the guy behind the bar.

“Him? That’s not the guy I was talking about.” Raven replied. She pointed an accusatory finger at another dark-haired man serving drinks, with a slightly leaner build. “ _That’s_ the cockroach that ruined my top.” 

Monty nodded in agreement. “Yeah, the guy you were talking to owns the place. What was his name again?” his eyes lit up and he reached into his wallet for something. “He gave us his card – said he was sorry his employee spilled a drink and that he’d hook us up with a VIP booth next time we came if we called his number.” Monty handed Clarke the man’s card.

“Bellamy,” Clarke tested the name out loud. “Bellamy Blake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This is more of an introductory chapter than anything, I wanted to set up the story and introduce the characters before the plot really gets going. Until next time lovelies x


	2. The Rod of Asclepius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarke's about to have a hell of a day, but at least there's some good 'Clarke and Octavia being bros' content

Clarke woke to a scream.

She darted out of bed to track down the source of the noise – Octavia on the living room floor, clutching her ankle. “Octavia, what happened? Are you okay?”

“Shit! Argh, sorry I woke you, I know it’s early,” She winced in pain as she touched her ankle, which looked red, swollen, and frankly a little displaced. Clarke kneeled down next to her to inspect it further. Between curse words, Octavia managed to explain what happened. “There’s this one pose I can never get right, I just wanted to practice it before class today and – oh shit, I’ve got class today! I can’t walk, let alone dance or help teach yoga – god, Clarke I really needed this!” Octavia started to well up, whether from pain or emotion Clarke wasn’t sure.

“Okay, let me look at it.” Clarke said in what she called her ‘doctor voice’ – the calming tone she used with her patients. “I’m sorry but I’m going to have to touch it, and it’ll hurt. Is that okay?” she asked, and Octavia gave a quick nod, biting her lip. Clarke gave her a tense smile as the tentatively touched the offending ankle. Clarke felt the bones shift in the foot as she massaged the ankle. _Dammit. Broken._ “Pass me those cushions?” Clarke asked, nodding to the throw pillows on the sofa by Octavia’s head. She obliged, and Clarke slid them under the ankle, propping it up. “I’m gonna go get you some ice and then we’ll get you to the ER. Don’t move.” She squeezed Octavia’s hand, trying to offer some kind of comfort, but Octavia just collapsed down, exasperated and in pain.

“We didn’t have ice, but frozen peas are just as good,” Clarke returned and pressed the icy bag against her foot. “How are you feeling?” she asked, making sure to keep pressure applied.

Octavia propped herself up on her elbows. "Sore," Her lips quivered a little, hesitating. “I’m scared, Clarke. I need this job; I need the money to pay rent. If I’ve messed up my ankle then I can’t dance, and that’s all I know how to do.” Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. “My brother’s already done so much for me, and I can’t go to him anyway; I wanted to prove I can do this on my own. Maybe I’m just not cut out for this.” She wiped her eyes and forced a laugh. “I’m sorry, I’m being stupid. You don’t want to listen to this.”

“What? No, of course I do! You’re not being stupid; this is important to you. There’s nothing stupid about that.” Clarke hastily reassured her. “If you’re worried about rent, I can cover it for you.” Octavia was about to interject, but Clarke beat her to it. “It’s not charity, you can pay me back once you get a job sorted. You won’t be the first dancer to get injured, and your professors will know how to deal with that better than I do, but they’ll work something out with you. Your brother doesn’t have to help unless you want him to, okay?” Clarke figured that was a reasonable suggestion. Octavia didn’t talk about her brother that much; only to say he was a few years older, overprotective, and still lived in Polis where they grew up. She mentioned once that he dropped out of college to get a job so he could support Octavia, so Clarke understood the guilt she felt when going to him for help.

Octavia was silent for a moment. “Okay.” She cracked a small smile.

“Good,” Clarke replied. “Now let’s have another look at that ankle, I think my hand’s about to freeze off.” She half-joked as she lifted the bag from Octavia’s injury. “ _Whoa,_ ” Clarke murmured under her breath.

“What? Is it bad?” Octavia asked, hearing Clarke’s muttering. 

_How the hell did that happen?_

What was once angry and inflamed was now back to normal size, perfectly aligned as if by magic. Were Clarke’s eyes playing tricks on her earlier?

“No, it’s not bad at all. Does it hurt?” Clarke asked. Octavia furrowed her brows, cautiously wiggling her toes, then rotating her foot at the ankle.

“I mean… my foot’s so cold it might turn to ice, but I think the pain’s gone.” Octavia sounded surprised, but a smile crept back onto her face. “I’m gonna try standing.”

Despite Clarke’s protests, she pushed herself off the ground with ease and attempted a few steps flawlessly. “Good as new!” relief was evident in her voice. “Clarke, you are going to make an amazing doctor. Thank you so much!” she gripped her into a tight hug. “I’d better get going, I have a job to win.” She grinned, grabbing her shoes and bag before heading out of the apartment, leaving Clarke in a stunned silence.

There was no way Octavia could be walking right now, right? Clarke was so sure the ankle was jutting out at an angle that could only mean a fracture, needing a trip to hospital, weeks in a cast, and crutches – not something a bag of frozen peas and some kind words could fix. She decided she must not have been seeing clearly since she was woken so early after a night at a bar and decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

In her rush to get to class, Octavia had left her Bluetooth headphones on the floor. She only used them at home – at her dance studio she just cranked the music up high from speakers, but their neighbours weren’t as accommodating of Octavia’s dance practice. After clearing up the cushions from the floor, Clarke grabbed the headphones and brought them back to Octavia’s room. It was definitely a dancer’s bedroom – workout clothes and light dumbbells scattered around the floor, and posters of people Clarke assumed were famous dancers lined the walls. Octavia was never one to brag, but she did keep a small collection of trophies from competitions on her desk as motivation. Clarke’s eyes were drawn to the bookshelf opposite the bed. With a name like Octavia, it’s no surprise that there was a collection of Ancient Greek and Roman mythology books. Clarke wandered over to the shelf, gazing at the titles. She didn’t know how Octavia made sense of them, some of the words on the covers were in the original language, and just looked like— _wait_.

With a blink of her eyes, the text appeared as if it was in English, just for a split second, before flitting back to the way it was before. Okay, Clarke definitely needed to get some sleep; she was seeing things. She shook her head rapidly as if to shake it off, then traipsed back to her own bed before collapsing between the sheets.

-

It was rare that Clarke had a Thursday off, but as yesterday was a mock exam, she was free for a 4-day weekend. After a much-needed lie-in following Octavia’s fall, she was due to meet her mother for lunch. Clarke wore a white tea dress she knew her mother liked, and played with the necklace she gave her as a gift for being accepted into medical school. She never took it off; it gave her a sense of comfort knowing a piece of her last living parent was always with her. Clarke’s father, Jake Griffin, was an engineer. The two of them had been inseparable her whole life, and when she thought of him now, she remembered the good times. Being a child and play-fighting with him, or teaching her chess as she got a little older. They used to watch soccer together, always rooting for Arkadia. She tried her best to hold on to every memory of him, because that’s all she has left of him now. Memories.

“Welcome. Do you have a reservation?” The host at the restaurant asked her. Clarke was so distracted that she hadn’t realised she was next in line.

“Yes, sorry. Two for Abigail Griffin?”

“Of course. Dr Griffin is already seated, I’ll show you to your table.” He smiled and waved her behind him, showing her to an outdoor seating area, delicately shaded by foliage overhead. Ivy crept up the exposed brick of the restaurant exterior, and the decking and furniture were pained a crisp white in contrast. Clarke could practically smell the money from this place.

She caught sight of her mother and beamed, rushing to greet her. “Hey Mom, it’s been a while.” Abby kissed her on the cheek and hugged her daughter.

“Too long, Clarke. Though we rarely have days off at the same time. Sit, I got us some mimosas.” Clarke noted the wedding ring hanging from her mother’s neck and tried to think of something else.

“How are you? How’s Marcus?” She asked. Good, change the subject.

“I’m fine, work keeps me busy but that’s nothing new. Marcus is great.” She smiled fondly. “Actually I wanted to tell you – he’s asked if I would move in with him. Things are going really well for him at work, we’ve been getting serious, and it just feels like the right time.”

“Hm? Oh, yeah that sounds great.” Clarke responded, but her mind was elsewhere. She couldn’t help but run over the odd things that had been happening the past couple of days, and something didn’t feel right.

“I know it might seem sudden to you, but Marcus and I have known each other a long–” Abby stopped herself. “Clarke?”

“Yeah, sorry, I was just… thinking. No, that sounds like a good idea.” Clarke sipped her drink.

Abby paused. Clarke could feel her doing that thing – analysing her like a blood sample. “You’re distracted.” She leaned in. “Is this about your father? I know this is hard for you, it’s hard for me too, but it’s been 3 years, and Marcus makes me happy.”

“Oh, god – no this isn’t about Dad. I’m happy for you and Marcus, really. I like him.”

Abby relaxed a little, but continued her analysis. “Is it about med school? Between you and me, Jackson was really impressed with how you did in your exam. I know you’re not officially supposed to know anything so soon, but he thinks you’re one of the best in the class.” Clarke didn’t react. “No? Then I don’t know what it is. Clarke, what’s bothering you?”

Clarke hesitated. “You’d just think I’m crazy. Even I think I’m a little crazy.” She admitted with a chuckle. 

“I’ve seen crazy, Clarke, and you’re not it. Try me.” Abby’s features softened. “I might understand more than you think.”

Clarke wrestled with her thoughts. She was worried her mother might think she’s losing her mind, but when it came down to it, if she can’t talk to her own mother about her problems then who can she go to? “It’s just… some weird things have been happening recently.” Clarke chose her words carefully.

“Like what?” her mother asked, with interest and a hint of concern.

“I don’t know how to explain it. I was so certain that Octavia broke her ankle this morning, but when I took the ice pack off it was completely healed, like it had never been broken in the first place.” Abby froze, but Clarke was in too deep now to stop based on a bad reaction. “And I could have sworn that for a second I could understand the Greek words on the cover of her books. Am I… am I imagining things?”

Abby sank back into her chair, taking a sip of her mimosa. She looked almost _guilty_ , and her hand found her necklace, fingering Jake’s wedding ring briefly before coming to rest on her lap. “Clarke, I think it’s time I told you the truth about your father.”

“What’s this got to do with Dad?” Clarke asked.

Abby shook her head. “No. Not Jake. Your birth father.”

Those words landed on Clarke like a ton of bricks – she couldn’t believe what she was hearing; she refused to. Jake wasn’t her real father? “You  _cheated_ on Dad?”

“No baby. Jake married me to keep you safe. He was my best friend, and I will _always_ love him, but we were never a real couple, at least not in the sense you’re thinking of.” Abby reached out to take Clarke’s hand, but she yanked it back like it had touched hot coals.

“What are you talking about?” she seethed.

“Clarke, I need you to listen to what I have to say and to believe that I would never lie to you about something so important. Do you know what your necklace is?” Clarke felt for the jewellery around her neck – a sterling silver rod with a snake wrapped around it. “It’s the Rod of Asclepius. He’s the Greek God of medicine. I thought it was a good gift – it’s a token for doctors around the world, but it also has a special meaning for you.” She paused. “The reason Octavia healed so quickly, the reason you read Greek text, and the reason I gave you that necklace. I thought you’d feel some kind of connection to Asclepius. He was born to a mortal mother and a Greek God, Apollo. So were you. Clarke, Apollo is your father.”

Clarke stilled, her face betraying nothing.

A ghost of a smile appeared on Abby’s face. “Apollo was so beautiful, and so complicated. He represents just about every good thing you can think of – music, the arts, healing, knowledge... It’s no wonder I fell for him. He’d be so proud of the woman you’re becoming.” Abby noticed Clarke’s silence. “I was going to tell you when you turned 18, but when you never mentioned experiencing anything like this, I thought maybe we got away with you having a normal life. Jake thought you should know, but once the moment passed it never seemed like the right time. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, baby. But we can work through this together, I can help you.”

Clarke’s head snapped up. “And what makes you think I want your help?”

Abby looked as though Clarke had grown 3 heads. “Clarke?”

“You just told me you’ve been lying to me my whole life, about Dad, and you’re – what – blaming your infidelity on a Greek God? Jesus, Mom this is a new low.”

“Clarke, honey, please just listen to me-”

“No! I’m done listening. I’m done.” Clarke stood up, ignoring her mother’s objection, and ran out of the restaurant holding back tears.

-

Clarke had run out of tissues. As soon as she got home, she locked herself in her room and wept. She missed her dad – her _dad_ , not whoever her mom slept with and never saw again – she missed the trust she once had with her mother, and _god_ , she missed when her life was less complicated. Before she destroyed what was left of her mascara, she wrapped herself up in a blanket and plodded to Octavia’s room in search of more tissues. She knocked softly on her door, which whipped open quickly. “Clarke? Oh, god you look awful – I mean upset, you look upset. What can I do?” Octavia fumbled.

“Tissues?” Clarke asked. Octavia hastily grabbed the box from her desk as Clarke sat down on her bed, finding some comfort in the company. She mumbled a thanks as she wiped her eyes, taking a deep breath. “I had a fight with my mom.” She explained.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Octavia offered. Clarke shook her head. “That’s okay. We can just sit here.” Octavia sat next to her and wrapped an arm around her back. Clarke dipped her head to rest on her shoulder. Clarke stayed like that for a moment, eyes closed, concentrating on breathing, and when she opened her eyes, she found herself staring at something that made her sit up straight. A book, with the same symbol she saw on the menu at Symposium. Clarke stood up to grab the book and discovered the front cover had been torn in half. “What happened to it?" 

“Oh. My brother used to read to me before bed; I didn’t want story time to end one night so we had a bit of a tug-of-war with the book. Why?” She sounded surprised, but happy for the change of subject.

“Can I borrow this?”

“Of course, but why do-” Octavia began, but Clarke was already walking to her bedroom, making herself presentable and packing the book in her handbag.

“I’ll be back, don’t wait up for me. Thanks, Octavia. Really.” Clarke was genuinely grateful, she hoped Octavia believed her. She rushed out of the apartment headed for the one person she thought could bring her answers besides her mother – the owner of Symposium.

On the way to the bar she skimmed over the book, once again experiencing the Greek/English flickers but her determination overruled any concern about her vision. She scanned for an explanation of the symbol on the cover. From what she could gather, it was the symbol of some sort of currency.

Symposium didn’t open for another hour, but she knew the owner would be inside setting up. She hammered on the door, hoping he would hear. “Hello? Is anyone there? I need to speak to the owner!” She yelled.

“We’re closed!” A gruff voice responded. “Come back later!”

“It’s an emergency!” She pleaded.

“If it’s an emergency then call the police – we’re a bar.” Ugh, he was laying the sarcasm on thick. It was definitely the same snarky guy Clarke talked to last night.

Maybe if she remembered his name… of course! Monty gave her his card! She fumbled for it in her purse and read it out. “Bellamy? Please, I need to talk to you.”

Footsteps approached the front door, and it cracked open, revealing the man – Bellamy, leaning against the doorframe, eyeing her warily.

“So, the Princess returns. Couldn’t stay away from me, huh?”

“I’m not here for you, I just want some answers.” She reached in to her bag to show him the book. “What can you tell me about this symbol?”

His eyes reached the cover of the book and he looked panicked. “Where did you get that book?”

Clarke scrunched her brows in confusion. “I borrowed it. Why does it matter?”

He looked behind her, as if checking that the coast was clear, and ushered her inside. “I said, where did you get that book? Who did you borrow it from?” He was more insistent, a little angry now. Clarke might have been afraid, if it wasn’t for the two other staff members sweeping the interior of the bar.

“My roommate, Octavia – that’s not the point, I asked you a question.” She reminded him.

“Octavia Blake?” He probed.

Clarke blinked in surprise. “You know her?”

“Yeah. She’s my sister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. We all knew Octavia and Bellamy are siblings, but it was about time Clarke found out. And Clarke's a demigod! Still, so many questions left unanswered. What did Abby mean when she said Jake married her to protect Clarke? Why did Bellamy move from Polis to Arkadia? Is Clarke going to keep ignoring her new abilities? Stay tuned until the next chapter, in which Bellarke have an actual conversation! See you then x


	3. Fates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bellarke have a conversation!! Clarke gets some answers, and Bellamy gets some problems.
> 
> Fates: three goddesses who spin the thread of fate, creating a tapestry dictating an individual's destiny

“Murphy, Miller, you guys okay to run the bar tonight? I’m going upstairs to talk with…” Bellamy looked to Clarke to provide her name.

“Clarke.” She said.

“I’m going upstairs with Clarke. Murphy, you’re in charge of tending bar, Miller, you’re on table service. Got it?” He asked the two men.

The man Raven had called a ‘cockroach’ gave Bellamy a mock salute, and said “Aye-aye, Captain,” with a roll of his eyes, taking his position behind the bar. 

“Murphy. Behave please. I’ll be down later.” Bellamy said, nodding to the man Clarke deduced was Miller, who quietly started to wipe down tables. Turning to Clarke, Bellamy beckoned her forwards. “Come with me, I’ll explain what I can.”

He led her through a ‘Staff Only’ door, which revealed a set of stairs. As they ascended, he explained, “My apartment’s above the bar. I figured it was safer if we talk there.” His voice was softer than she’d ever heard it, and she took that as a good sign. Maybe he wasn’t always so standoffish. He slotted a key into the doorknob at the top of the stairs, opening the door to his place. He gestured for Clarke to enter ahead of him, and she walked in first. It was larger than she had expected; about the same size as the bar itself. It was fairly open plan – the first room had a large leather sofa and a few chairs around a coffee table, with a large TV attached to the wall. Bookshelves were scattered with well-worn fiction, history books, and of course some mythology texts. She noticed a particularly dog-eared copy of the Iliad open on the table. This room extended into the kitchen, which boasted a long, marble-topped island unit with barstools lining one side, perfect for serving drinks. The other rooms were closed off by doors, but if these rooms were any indication, Bellamy had excellent taste.

“Nice place,” she commented as he closed the door behind him.

“Thanks. Can I get you anything? Coffee, something stronger?” He offered, shrugging off his jacket and placing it on the couch.

“Uh, no I’m alright, thank you though.” Clarke replied, sitting down.

He sat on the couch next to her, studying her carefully. “I’m sorry for snapping at you downstairs. I just saw the torn book cover and thought of Octavia – I try to keep her away from this stuff. I didn’t know you knew her”

Clarke nodded. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I was short with you last night.”

“Me too,” he laughed a little. “So, Clarke, what do you want to know?”

She handed him the book. “That symbol there,” she pointed to the mark - ₯ - “What does it mean?”

“It’s the sign for drachma, the currency they used in Ancient Greece. You saw it on my menu?” he responded.

“Yeah. What’s it doing there? And what even is ambrosia?”

“Ambrosia is the food of the Greek Gods, often it’s described as something you can drink too. As for what it’s doing in my cocktail list…” Bellamy sighed. “Honestly? I don’t know. I wasn’t lying when I said it wasn’t listed as one of the drinks. I genuinely didn’t put it on there. I have my suspicions about how you saw it, but I’m working on finding an answer.” He leaned back into the couch, leather squeaking as he moved. “How much do you know about the Gods?”

She groaned, putting her head in her hands. “Not you too… first my mom, now this. What is with people around here and Greek deities?”

“Ah. So you’re new to this then. I’ve been there – took me a long time to believe my mom but once my abilities appeared, I completely bought into it.” He chuckled as she peeked at him through her fingers, her head still in her hands. “You’re sceptical. Here, read this.” He reached for his copy of the Iliad on the table, passing it to her. “What’s this passage about?”

Clarke skimmed over the words. “Zeus is forbidding the gods from interfering in the war, and the Trojans and Greeks are fighting again. Looks like the Trojans have the upper hand for now.” She offered him back the book. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

“Look again.” He insisted, and she obliged. Glancing back down at the same page, she gasped. “Do you see it? The book’s in Greek. You understood it perfectly.”

Clarke locked eyes with Bellamy. “Weird things have been happening ever since I came to your bar. I can read Greek; I can heal injuries. Why?”

Bellamy studied her. “Are you a doctor?”

“Almost – I’m a medical student. How did you know?”

“Usually things we have a proficiency for already are the first of our abilities to appear, plus you have the Rod of Asclepius around your neck, so it wasn’t a difficult leap.” He explained. She’d forgotten she was still wearing that, but despite her fight with her mother, she didn’t want to take it off. “I take it he’s a relative of yours. But with powers coming on that rapidly I wouldn’t say he’s your father. Asclepius was born a demigod, so not as strong as a God. Let me guess – you’re a daughter of Apollo?”

“Wow. Uh, yeah, if I believe my mom, then you’re right.” Clarke was impressed with his reasoning. “I assume your father is a God, too?”

“Yeah, he is.” Bellamy confirmed.

An uncomfortable pause. “Are you not gonna tell me which one?” Clarke eventually asked.

“How about this, I’ll give you three guesses.” He offered.

“Hmm…” Clarke thought out loud. She had done a little research on Greek Gods before arriving here, and she tried to remember their names. “Dionysus, God of wine.”

Bellamy laughed out loud – a real, full-bellied laugh that spread through his whole body. “No, but that would be perfect. Oh, the things I could do as a bartending son of Dionysus. Actually on second thought that would be terrible – I’d drink all my stock and never make a profit. Probably for the best. Two more guesses.”

“Zeus?” She guessed, partially because he was one of the only male gods she could remember the name of.

“If I was a son of Zeus that would literally be how I introduced myself to you; children of Zeus tend to be a little proud.” He smiled. “But don’t tell them I said that.”

“Come on, give me a hint here.” This was bugging her more than it should. Why wouldn’t he just tell her?

He looked a little resigned. “My father has made a lot of enemies. There’s a reason I don’t go around advertising who he is.”

Clarke had one last idea. “Hades?”

Bellamy shook his head. “Hades isn’t actually all that bad. People nowadays think he’s some sort of evil god, but in reality he’s pretty passive; he just cares about maintaining balance in the world. Sure, he’s a little callous – and he kind of hates your brother – but he’s not the devil. And he’s not my father.”

“My brother? I don’t have a brother.” Clarke replied.

“You do now. Asclepius,” He pointed to her necklace. “He’s your half-brother.”

Clarke played with the charm on her neck. “Why does Hades hate him?”

“He got a little too good at his job, started bringing people back from the dead. Hades complained to Zeus, and Zeus killed him.” Bellamy expounded.

“Asclepius is dead?” Clarke asked, taken aback. She only just learned she had a brother, and now she’s supposed to accept that he’s dead? It seemed too cruel.

“In a way. Yes, Zeus killed the demigod Asclepius, but resurrected him as a God, so now he sits with Apollo at Mount Olympus.” Bellamy’s words seemed to relax Clarke. “Speaking of siblings, there’s something I should say. Octavia doesn’t know about any of this – she’s mortal. My father didn’t exactly stick around, he’s not known for being a family man. My mom raised me on her own and then had Octavia with some guy on a one-night stand. Ever since she died it’s just been me and Octavia – she’s my responsibility and I want to keep her safe.”

“Of course, I want to keep her safe too; she’s my friend.” Clarke hoped she sounded as genuine as she felt.

His face hardened. “No, you don’t understand. Demigods can cause a lot of trouble, and if this gets too dangerous, if people find out about you, then I don’t want her around you. I moved here to keep an eye on her, and if you become a danger to her then I won’t have a problem making you leave town.”

His words shocked Clarke; it seemed like only moments ago they had started to warm to each other, now they were back at square one. “O…kay?”

“Good.” He nodded. “Now, there’s a few more things you should-”

“Bellamy!” A voice interrupted him, appearing from nowhere, causing Clarke to jump. She whipped her head around to locate the source of the voice, and her jaw dropped to the floor when she saw who it belonged to. Without opening a single door or making a sound, the man had somehow materialised in Bellamy’s apartment.

She stared at him in confusion and called out his name. “Marcus?”

“Clarke? By the Gods, what are you doing here?” He responded, sounding just as shocked as she was.

“You’ve _got_ to stop revealing yourself like that, we’ve been over this – Marcus Kane does not evaporate into thin air and then reappear somewhere else!” Bellamy scolded. “Wait, you two know each other?” He added, as if he’d only just noticed their conversation.

“Yeah, he’s dating my mom,” Clarke filled Bellamy in. “Marcus, what are you doing? How did you get in here?”

“I’m here to see Bellamy, same as you I assume. How do you two know each other?” Marcus replied.

“We met last night.” Clarke stated.

Marcus’s eyes widened as Clarke realised the implication behind her choice of words and their current location. “Bellamy, you didn’t-” Marcus started.

“Oh, Gods, no – not like that.” Bellamy tripped over the words in his rush to get them out of his mouth. “She’s the one who saw ambrosia on the menu yesterday, she came back to get some answers.” This pacified Marcus, who visibly relaxed. Bellamy addressed Clarke. “I mentioned I was working on finding out how you saw that on my menu? Kane is sort of… ‘in the know’ about most things that go on in the world of the Gods, and he relays the messages to us.”

“Perhaps it would be better if I explained myself.” Marcus sat on the chair nearest to Clarke. “I was hoping for a more opportune time to tell you this,”

“Maybe if you ever _knocked_ before coming into my place…” Bellamy grumbled.

Marcus shot him a glare before returning his gaze to Clarke. “Firstly I want you to know that no matter what you must think of me now, I love your mother. That much is still true. But largely what you know of me is a lie. My real name is Hermes – messenger of the Gods.” Clarke felt like her head was going to explode. “You know me as Marcus Kane, a man important in the world of business, and that’s true enough, though being the God of trade does give me an unfair advantage. I spend most of my time on Earth nowadays; Olympus is rather dull, though I do have the unique ability of safe passage between the worlds whenever I choose. I’ve been devoting my spare time to helping demigods on Earth like Bellamy here. And you, Clarke. I know this is a lot to take in, but I’m here to help. If you’d like, you can call me Hermes when in company with those who know me, or just Marcus if you prefer.”

She forced a laugh. “I don’t believe this. Has everyone in my life been lying to me?” Clarke looked to Bellamy for help.

He rubbed her back in comfort. Clarke wasn’t usually a big fan of that, but his touch actually helped her calm down. She slowed her breathing and listened to him talk. “He’s telling the truth. He’s here with some answers for us.” Then, to Marcus, “What have you found?”

“Sounds like you’ve had some interference from the Fates.” Marcus said.

“ _Shit_.” Bellamy whispered.

Clarke stiffened at his reaction. “Is that bad?”

“It means there’s something else going on.” Marcus answered for Bellamy. “The Fates never do anything without reason, but they’re famously cagey on revealing their motives. All we know for certain now is that they wanted the two of you to meet.”

“Great, so we solve one mystery only to find another.” Clarke sighed. As the trio settled in to an uncomfortable silence, Clarke’s phone buzzed: an email reminder from the university. “Shit, I’ve got a meeting with my academic advisor at 8am.”

“Do you want to call in sick?” Bellamy asked.

She thought about it. “No, unless there’s something else I need to know I think I need to get back to my normal life for a while. This is a lot to take in.” When neither of the men protested, she gathered her things. “Thank you, Bellamy, for everything. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

“Yeah, of course. Any time.” He stood up and showed her out of the apartment, exchanging quick smiles as the door closed behind her.

Bellamy took a moment to decompress before turning back to face Hermes. “Anything else?”

“Yes, it’s better if Clarke doesn’t hear this for the time being.” He began. “There have been whispers in Olympus about a child of Apollo.”

“So? That’s Clarke, right? We knew that already.” Bellamy replied.

“Yes, _we_ know about her. But Apollo doesn’t. Frankly he’s incensed that one of his mortal companions might have kept a child from him.” Bellamy’s eyes widened as Hermes spoke. “None of the other gods know for sure either, but your father is searching for her. He’s still searching for you, too, I just about escaped an interrogation from him this morning.”

“Why does he care about Clarke?” Bellamy asked. The idea of his father wanting something from Clarke made him livid. Maybe it was his brotherly instincts kicking in, or maybe he just felt partially responsible for the damage his father caused, but he didn’t like the idea of him finding out about her.

“I don’t know. I’m trying my best to convince the other Gods that this is just gossip – a rumour meant to spread dissent through Olympus. But trouble always follows your father.” His eyes darkened a shade. “And I think he just painted a target on Clarke’s back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone see that Kane twist coming? He's definitely going to play a big role in the plot. And who is Bellamy's father? Why is he so reluctant to tell Clarke? More to come next chapter - it's a big one! Thanks for reading x


	4. Oracle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oracle: a priestess considered to provide counsel or predictions of the future, especially of the gods.
> 
> hope you're ready for a whole lotta plot, some answers, and some high-key-not-so-subtle sexual tension

Even for a regular week, with no supernatural happenings, an 8am start on a Friday was just inhumane. Clarke was a _demigod_ , that’s a lot to wrap your head around. But, as far as Professor Black was concerned, she was just another student with an appointment to keep to. The heavy wood of the door to his office resonated as Clarke knocked to announce her presence. “Come in.” She heard him call, and she pushed the door open. He had his back turned, watching the news on the television behind his desk. Clarke could faintly hear the reporter describing the weather. _“-freak storm over Polis appears to be moving west towards Arkadia. Lightning has downed several power lines in the area, and further west we’re hearing reports of rip currents in the-”_

“Clarke Griffin.” He switched off the TV, swivelling in his chair to face her with a fond smile. Professor Black was about 50 years old, with a full head of brown hair and a strong build. His face was lined, and if Clarke didn’t know him she might find him intimidating. He had always been fair to her, and kind enough to offer advice and back her up to the medical school if needed. “My apologies, I get so distracted by those things.” He waved at the now black screen. “Please, sit." 

Clarke obliged, taking the chair opposite his desk. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, your preliminary results from Wednesday’s practical exam have come back.” He put on his glasses, rifling through a stack of papers on his desk. While he searched, Clarke’s eyes roamed around the room. His diploma was framed on the wall, and various paintings decorated the office. On his desk was a framed photograph of a horse, as well as a small horse figurine. Clarke supposed he was something of an equestrian in his spare time. “Ah. Here they are.” He plucked a piece of paper from the pile. “As I predicted, passed with flying colours. You should be proud of yourself.”

Clarke returned his smile. “Thank you, Professor.”

“Of course these aren’t finalised yet but rest easy knowing you’ve once again exceeded expectations.” He set down the paper and leaned back in his chair.

A slightly awkward silence followed. “Forgive me for saying so, but could this not have been sent over in an email? Usually a face-to-face discussion is for something more than simple exam results, and I’ve had quite a stressful few days.” Clarke tiptoed around the words.

He sighed. “Yes, your mother explained your situation to me.

“You spoke to my mother?”

“She told me you didn’t take the news about your birth father well. Clarke, I know this must be overwhelming but I’m afraid I’ve been keeping something from you too. My name is Chiron.” He said.

“Really? You too? Is there anyone in my life who _isn’t_ a god?” Clarke was exasperated, shedding her professional demeanour.

“I’m not a god. I’m a centaur.” He clarified.

“Oh, a centaur, my mistake. I guess centaurs exist too, then.” She said breathlessly, words laced with a hit of sarcasm.

He paused. “The photograph on my desk – what do you see?”

Clarke’s eyes flitted downwards. “A horse.” The words were so dry her tongue could have cracked.

“Close your eyes.” He instructed. With a sigh, she followed his order. “Don’t open them yet, but when you do, you’ll see what humans do. I want you to imagine you were opening a second set of invisible eyelids afterwards, keeping your focus on the photograph, and tell me if you see anything different.”

Clarke hummed in agreement. “Okay, opening my eyes now.” She focused on the picture. A brown horse, standing in a meadow. She tried to envisage what her Professor told her, and imagined peeling back a second layer from her eyes. Miraculously, with that small bit of effort, she noticed a change in her vision as if she had turned on high definition. The horse in the image transformed into something she had never seen before, and she leaned in closer to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her. When the new image stayed put, she jumped back. “Is that…?”

“Me? Yes.” He finished her thought.

“But Professor, you have a…” She choked on the words.

“Horse’s body? As I explained, I’m a centaur. That’s my true form. And please, call me Chiron. I’d say we’re on a first name basis at this point.” Clarke made some guttural noise of agreement, still transfixed by the photograph. “The magic in the photograph is by and large the same magic that keeps my real body hidden when I need it to. It’s not quite the same sort of abilities as you demigods have, but a simple disguise charm is all I require.”

Clarke met his eyes again. “Why are you showing me this now?”

“You were quite right earlier, a simple conversation about your results could have been handled electronically. But I asked you here to discuss rather a more serious matter.”

Clarke perked up at this.

“I’d like to offer my services as a tutor of sorts. I’ve already shown you how to see with your God’s eye, and this will allow you to see past simple tricks of magic, such as masking charms to hide an object or person’s true form – with more practice, of course. I taught your brother Asclepius a long time ago; I see you wear his staff around your neck. You certainly share his medical skills, but I sense more potential in you. Your father was skilled at music and archery, and I wonder if you would be interested in some training.” 

Clarke had always wanted to learn how to use a bow and arrow, ever since hearing stories of Robin Hood as a child. But it seemed like Chiron was still hiding something. “Why do I need to learn all this? Should I be worried about something?” she enquired with an uncomfortable laugh. 

He hesitated before answering, thinking over how best to explain the situation. “I’ve heard something worrying from Apollo’s oracle. Before I explain, you must understand that the oracles are not infallible, and they have been wrong before.” He spoke with guarded urgency. “Apollo’s lyre is lost somewhere on Earth. For now, he is too embarrassed to say anything to the other Gods, but soon they will ask questions. Whomever possesses the lyre is in a position of extreme power. The lyre is one of a kind, enchanted so that a simple tune played from it can tame any mythical beast. But enchantments can be twisted, and so the lyre can also make beasts wild with rage and cause them to destroy anything in their path. In essence, if you control the lyre, you have an army of beasts at your command.”

Clarke suppressed a gasp. “And Apollo hasn’t told anyone it’s missing?”

“He feels he doesn’t have to. Only Apollo and his direct descendants can wield the lyre’s true power. As far as he knows, that just means himself and Asclepius, who remains by his side in Olympus.” Chiron responded.

Clarke was puzzled. “He doesn’t know I exist?”

“No. And it’s better for all of us if it stays that way. It’s dangerous to be a demigod, Clarke, even in modern times. Peril may lurk around any corner, and some demigods still believe the old superstition that if you kill a demigod, you gain their powers. Apollo is a very gifted god, and his children are said to be particularly talented. Your mother worked hard to keep you hidden all these years, but the oracle has foretold that a child of Apollo will be revealed, and will have an important role to play in the future of the Earth.”

“So if the gods knew I existed, someone might try to kill me.” Clarke clarified.

“Or worse, if they gain possession of the lyre they may force you to play it for them. If it falls into the wrong hands it could mean the end of the world as we know it.”

Clarke gulped. “When do we start training?”

-

So much for that meeting being a return to normal life. Clarke arrived home drained, and badly in need of a stress reliever. She closed the door behind her and was immediately pounced on by 120lbs of energy in the form of Octavia Blake. “I got the job!” she yelled.

Clarke immediately returned the embrace, all her worries forgotten in the moment of elation. “What? No way! Octavia, that’s amazing! Oh, I’m so happy for you.”

“This is going to be so good for us – oh! This calls for a celebration. We’re getting drinks tonight, let’s get everyone together. Invite whoever you want!” Octavia released her and immediately started planning her outfit for tonight.

“Whoa, slow down! Hey, I need to talk to you about something.” Clarke followed her to her room.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Um… I’m sure you’ll find this out sooner or later but I thought you should hear it before we go out tonight.” Clarke began, and Octavia slowed in response to Clarke’s change of tone.

“What is it, Clarke?”

“Your brother’s in town… permanently.” She said carefully, wincing as she spoke.

Octavia huffed a deep breath, straightening her posture. “I know. I’ve known since Wednesday.”

“How?” Clarke blurted in surprise.

“You said you were going to a new bar called Symposium?” She asked. Clarke nodded. “Bell always talked about opening a bar with that name. I guess he finally did it. No one else is that much of a Greek mythology nerd.” The corner of her lips twitched upwards in the ghost of a smile. “How did he look?”

Clarke softened. “He looked good. Seems like he’s doing really well for himself. Are you okay?”

“Good. Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just been a while since I’ve seen him.” She thought for a second. “You know what? Let’s get drinks at his bar tonight. He can’t avoid me forever, so I might as well see him while I’ve got my life together.”

“Are you sure? Because if you don’t want to see him, I will pay for your drinks at the fanciest bar in town and we can laugh at all the boring, rich businessmen trying to hit on us in their overpriced suits.” Clarke offered.

Octavia laughed like wind chimes, light and musical. “No it’s okay, really. I want to do this.”

“Okay. Let’s get everyone together.” 

-

Symposium was booming. As the newest bar on campus on a Friday night, it was to be expected. If Monty hadn’t called in the favour of a VIP table, there’s no way everyone could sit together.

Miller greeted all of the gang at the door, which Clarke supposed was a good idea; best not to have Murphy do it considering Raven was still complaining about the stubborn stain on her shirt. Clarke had invited Jackson to come along too, and as Miller showed the group to their booth at the back, Jackson whispered in Clarke’s ear, “I see why you like it here, the staff are _hot_.” Clarke snorted in response and rolled her eyes, sitting down with the rest of her friends.

“Okay, Bellamy left a bottle of vodka with you guys on the house so help yourselves,” Miller gestured to the bottle at the centre of the table, “And which one of you is Raven?”

Raven, who was already reaching for a shot glass, froze in surprise. “That’s me, why?”

Miller reached into his back pocket and handed her a sealed envelope with her name on it. “From Murphy. I don’t know what it is, so if it’s a prank don’t shoot the messenger.” He was about to walk away, but caught eyes with Jackson. “You’re staring.” He stated, with a raised eyebrow. It wasn’t accusatory, but perhaps a little mischievous.

Jackson blinked rapidly, and stuttered, “Um, I just – you look familiar, do I know you?” he covered for himself.

Miller exhaled a laugh with a sly smile. “No, I’d remember a face like that.” Jackson flushed red. “Enjoy your evening.” With a quick smile to the group, he departed.

Once he was out of earshot, a teasing chorus of “ _Oooooh!_ ” erupted at the table. “He was completely flirting with you!” Monty commented, patting Jackson on the back as if in congratulations.

Raven, meanwhile, was hiding a blush of her own after surreptitiously reading the note in the envelope. Clarke caught her eye, mouthing “What does it say?”

Raven bit her lip in a grin, folding the note up and putting it safely in her jacket pocket. A light shake of her head told Clarke “ _not here,”_ , and she nodded in understanding, knowing she’d get the details later.

By the time Clarke refocused on the group’s conversation, she found Octavia and Jasper play-arguing over the Taco Bell incident from last week. “No, you smoked too much weed, got the munchies, and raided my fridge for the Taco Bell I’d been saving for dinner!” Octavia said firmly.

“I have no memory of that.” Jasper defended. 

“Well of course you don’t, you were high! Look, just buy me food next movie night and we’re even.” She reasoned.

“To be fair Jasper, you did eat her food.” Monty interjected, earning him a light punch in the arm from Jasper. “Ow! That hurts my arm _and_ my feelings.”

“Okay, okay, it’s a deal. Let’s shake on it”. Jasper stretched out his hand and Octavia took it gladly, solidifying the deal.

“Alright, it’s settled. Anyone want drinks? I’m gonna go order for us.” Octavia said, eyeing the bar. Clarke followed her line of sight and noticed Bellamy deep in concentration serving customers. The bar was so crowded there was no way he had spotted Octavia yet.

The group – excluding Raven and Jasper (who were currently in round 2 of their shot race) and Clarke – rattled off their orders to her. As Octavia left the booth, Clarke squeezed her hand and gave her a knowing look. “Good luck,” she whispered, and Octavia smiled faintly, squeezing her hand back before disappearing in the crowd.

“Hey, Clarke?” Jackson nudged her from his seat next to her. “I think you’ve got an admirer.”

“Where?” Clarke asked, her eyes instinctively searching for a certain bartender, who was currently preoccupied by Octavia. Clarke’s heart sank a little, but she shook it off, associating the feeling in her chest with the nervousness she felt for the siblings’ conversation.

“Next booth over, second guy from the left. He’s been checking you out since we got here.” Jackson replied. Clarke studied the man, who was smirking at her between sips of whiskey. He was a little older than she was, and clearly came from money. His jet-black hair was perfectly gelled away from his face, but not in a way that looked greasy or scraped back. Clarke could tell the shirt he wore was far too expensive for a student to afford; she could spot the Brooks Brothers logo from a mile away. Usually she didn’t go for the ‘rich boy’ type but he was handsome, and she blushed a little despite herself. She broke eye contact first, turning to Jackson, who asked, “Are you going to go for it?”

“I don’t know,” She mused. “I’m here tonight for Octavia, not to meet a guy. But we’ll see how I feel later.” Maybe she could use a little time for herself after the week she’s had.

Jackson nodded in understanding, and before anything else was said, Jasper had challenged him to a game of battle shots – he’d lost his usual drinking buddy Raven to the ladies’ room. To Jackson’s credit, he accepted, though Jasper had a reputation for being unusually good at this game. When Clarke had asked what his secret was, he simply tapped his temple. “It’s all about strategy Clarke. Get inside your opponent’s head.”

Clarke’s attention was drawn to the bar again, where she saw Octavia returning to them with a skip in her step. She gave Clarke a thumbs up to let her know their conversation went well, and she sat back down beaming.

“Where’s our drinks?” Monty asked, as she was empty-handed. 

Octavia’s mouth formed a perfect little ’o’. “Shit! I knew I forgot something.”

Clarke laughed. “Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it.” She took everyone’s drink orders again and made her way to Bellamy.

 

“Hey,” She said softly, leaning her forearms on the marble of the bar. “How are you doing?”

He flashed her a contented smile. “Good. She was mad at me at first for not telling her I moved here; I guess I deserved that. But she seems like she’s got it together here.” He came to stand directly opposite her, mirroring her stance. “She was singing your praises; says a lot of her progress this year is down to you. Thank you for that.”

“I didn’t do much,” she brushed off the compliment, but it did give her a buzz of warmth. “She doesn’t give herself enough credit.”

He nodded, his bottom lip jutting out in thought. “You might be right about that. Anyway, what can I get you?”

She recited the list of drink requests to him, and he set about making them. “This might take a while. You can go sit down and I’ll bring them to you if you like.”

Clarke smiled. “Yeah, thanks.” She turned to leave but spun on her heels when he called out her name.

“Clarke? Thanks for bringing her tonight. It was good to talk to her.”

“Any time. Come by our place sometime, we’d be happy to have you over.” She proposed, and he flashed a toothy grin to her in response before she continued on her way.

 

She sat down smiling, letting the group know the drinks were on their way. Raven had re-joined the group in her absence, and shot her a cheeky grin. “You two kiss and make up?” 

“What?” Clarke was startled.

“You seemed pretty friendly with the owner up there – hell of a change from the last time we were here.” She expanded. 

“Could say the same thing about you, Raven – don’t act like you weren’t all cosy with the cockroach on your ‘bathroom break’” Harper used air quotes at the end of her sentence.

Raven gasped and her cheeks turned pink. “Shut up, Harper!” she lightly tossed a napkin at her, and Clarke laughed, noticing this was the second night this week that Raven turned napkins into a weapon.

Their chatter was interrupted by Bellamy’s arrival, carrying several drinks on a tray. He handed them out to their respective owners, including Clarke’s gin and tonic, but also placed what looked like a Long Island Iced Tea next to Clarke.

Catching her puzzled stare, Bellamy explained, “It’s from the guy over there.” He tilted his head towards the man that had been eyeing her earlier. Clarke looked over to find him shooting her a wink. Bellamy crouched down to Clarke’s eye level and dropped his voice to a lower tone. “Say the word and he’s out on his ass, okay?”

“Thanks,” she said, and Bellamy stood up and walked back to the bar. It wasn’t lost on Clarke that he shot the guy a wary look from his post at the bar before returning to serve more customers.

Clarke decided that the wink and presumptuous move of buying her a drink without asking made her feel a little creeped out, and carefully shifted the drink to the end of the table. She worried if he saw her drink it that he’d take it as an opener to strike up a conversation, when she just wanted to spend tonight with her friends.

For the rest of the evening, they drank and reminisced. Octavia explained that Bellamy was her brother, much to everyone’s surprise. Jasper asked if that meant we all got a friends and family discount, which made her laugh. It was decided that Symposium would be the go-to drinking spot for the group.

Monty and Harper were the first to leave, followed shortly by Jackson, who was practically falling asleep on Clarke’s shoulder. Apparently he’d been on call at the hospital last night and hadn’t caught up on sleep just yet. Clarke forced him into an Uber and made him text her to say he got home safely. Eventually the others dropped off home too, leaving just Octavia and Clarke as the rest of the bar wound down to close, and Bellamy began wiping tables as the last customer left.

Clarke spotted Octavia’s line of sight following Bellamy around the room. “You want to talk to him in private?” she asked.

Octavia shot her a grateful look. “Yeah, actually. Is that okay? Do you mind?”

“Not at all! I’ll be outside waiting, then we can go home.” Clarke replied, gathering her things and throwing on her jacket. “See you in a few.”

She waved to Bellamy as she left the bar, watching Octavia approach him. It was colder outside than she thought, and she zipped up her coat tightly around herself. Her pocket buzzed, and she grabbed her phone, reading the text that had come through.

_Jackson: Home. Going to sleep, be safe tonight. J x_

She chuckled at how he always signed his messages off as if she didn’t know who it was from. He was only a couple years older than her but was such a grandpa with technology.

The phone had distracted her so much that she didn’t notice the figure approaching her until it was too late.

“My drink not good enough for you?” The man asked, anger lacing his words. Before Clarke could say anything, he grabbed her and shoved her against the wall, causing her to drop her phone in surprise. She opened her mouth to scream, but he covered it with his hand. “Don’t make a sound. I’d rather not kill you, Clarke, but I will if I have to.”

Her eyes widened when she saw the blade in his other hand. He slowly retracted the hand covering her mouth, testing if she would stay quiet. When she didn’t shout for help, he seemed satisfied. “We’re going to have a little talk. Where is the lyre?”

“What are you talking about? I don’t know anything about a lyre!” The words tumbled out of Clarke’s mouth.

“I don’t have time for this. We can continue this chat somewhere else.” He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her towards the parking lot, holding on to her so tight that she let out an involuntary shriek. He covered her mouth once again, but after a moment decided no one heard. “Come on, this way.” He continued.

Clarke was absolutely frozen in fear. How did he know who she was? Why did he want the lyre? If only she’d started her lessons with Chiron already, she might have some idea how to defend herself. She noticed he was ushering her towards a black car, and she began to struggle against his grip, feeling dread sink to her stomach. The man was stronger than she was, and despite Clarke’s best efforts she knew he would win this fight. She had just about resigned herself to her fate when she heard a familiar voice yell, “Hey!”

She had never heard Bellamy sound so furious.

Clarke and the man both turned to see Bellamy, who looked more animal than human, charging towards them. He tackled the man to the ground, landing several punches to his face. “Who are you?” He demanded.

“Bellamy, stop!” Clarke urged, worried one of the punches might kill him.

The man simply laughed in response, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “Cage Wallace, Son of Ares. Hey there, brother. Dad says hi.”

Bellamy reared back his fist, landing another punch to his head. This one knocked him out cold. “Clarke, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Bellamy, what is he talking about?” Clarke asked.

He took a deep breath and stood up, facing Clarke. “My father is Ares. God of War.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a lot of you guys guessed correctly which I'm super happy about! there are of course some questions here left unanswered and I love hearing your ideas! Until next time x


	5. God of War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gang get some answers, and more demigods are revealed.

Clarke stood in stunned silence for a moment, before Bellamy snapped her out of it. “We can talk about it inside, come on.” He said, picking Cage up and carrying him towards the bar. Clarke picked up her phone and Cage’s knife before rushing ahead of him to hold the door open. She was surprised to find Octavia still inside looking panicked.

“Clarke, what’s going on? I was talking to Bell and then he just sprinted out of here and told me to stay inside, what happened?”

Her question was answered when Bellamy walked in behind Clarke, carrying the still unconscious Cage. “I’m so sorry, O, I’ll explain all of this, I promise.”

“Who is that guy?” she asked.

“He attacked Clarke.” Octavia gasped at Bellamy’s words, and he turned to Clarke. “You got Kane’s number?”

Clarke nodded.

“Call him. Now.” Bellamy ordered. Clarke dialled the number with shaking hands, reassuring Octavia she wasn’t hurt. By the time she held the phone up to her ear, Bellamy had put Cage in a chair and was looking for something to secure him with.

“Clarke? Is everything okay?” Marcus’s voice came through on the phone, groggy, as if he’d been sleeping. _Do gods sleep?_ Clarke thought.

“No, um,” her voice quivered. “Can you come to Symposium? Someone attacked me, said he was a Son of Ares, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh my Gods, Clarke, are you hurt?” he asked urgently, all signs of tiredness gone from his voice.

“No, I’m fine, but he-” Clarke didn’t finish her sentence; she was cut off by Octavia screaming and pointing at something behind her. Clarke whipped around to see Marcus had materialised behind her, in his pyjamas, phone still next to his ear.

“Octavia – it’s alright, he’s a friend.” Clarke explained.

“But he…” Octavia trailed off.

“I know. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.” Clarke half-joked, pocketing her phone. Marcus scanned Clarke for injuries, before moving over to help Bellamy.

“I don’t have anything to tie him up with.” Bellamy said.

“Not to worry, I’ve got something better than rope.” Marcus replied, holding his right arm out straight, palm open. “ _Caduceus,_ ” he commanded, and his voice had such gravitas and power that Clarke swore the whole room shook. She watched as a silver staff appeared in his hand from thin air, much like Marcus himself did moments ago. The staff looked similar to the rod she wore on her necklace, only with wings at the top, and two snakes coiled around it instead of one. He banged the base of the staff against the ground, and the silver snakes flourished with colour, starting to move and hiss as if awakened from slumber.

“ _What the fuck?_ ” Octavia whispered, as the snakes slithered down the staff and crossed the floor, climbing up the chair Cage was slumped in. Each snake secured one of Cage’s wrists to the chair, clamping down and coiling around him tightly. Once he was secured, Bellamy rushed to Octavia’s side, who was backing away from Marcus, stunned. “Clarke, Kane, you got this?” He asked them. Marcus nodded.

“Yeah, we’ll be fine. Talk to Octavia.” Clarke told him, and he ushered Octavia through the ‘Staff Only’ door to explain everything away from the commotion in the main bar.

Marcus turned to Clarke with half a smile on his face. “Your father gave me this staff. It’s called the Caduceus.” He said. That explained the resemblance to Clarke’s necklace. “I had gifted him a lyre I crafted as an apology to him a long time ago, and he gave me this in return. He’s a good friend.”

Something clicked in Clarke’s memory. “Oh my god, the lyre!”

“What about it?” Marcus asked.

“Cage thought I knew where Apollo’s lyre was, it’s why he attacked me.” Clarke explained. “He knew who Bellamy was, too.”

“Why would he ask you where the lyre was? Unless… oh no.” Marcus’s face darkened. “The oracle was right.” 

Clarke’s features settled into worry. “Chiron, the centaur, he told me about what the oracle said. Apollo lost the lyre – I guess Ares wants it for himself.”

“If Ares gets his hands on the lyre the whole world could be up in flames within days. We can’t let that happen.” Marcus said resolutely. “We need to find out what Cage knows, how he found out about you, and who else he’s told.”

Just then, the front doors burst open. Expecting a fight, Marcus pushed Clarke behind him and raised the Caduceus like a spear. She couldn’t see who had entered, but recognised the voice.

“Hermes? What are you doing here?” It was Miller. Clarke peeked out from behind Marcus to see Miller and Murphy carrying boxes of what Clarke assumed was a fresh supply of alcohol to replace what the customers burned through tonight. Marcus lowered his staff.

Murphy whistled as he took in the scene, resting his vision on Cage, bloody and tied to a chair. “Looks like we missed the party. Hermes, just a word of advice – next time you want to torture someone, maybe check the front door is locked?”

The men walked inside, Murphy making a show of locking the door behind him before catching up to Miller who had already casually started unpacking the bottles behind the bar, as if the scene in front of him was nothing new. “You guys know about all this too?” Clarke asked.

“Oh yeah, me and Hermes are tight, right bud?” Murphy replied, smirking at Marcus. “Nice pyjamas.”

“John, Nathan, I assume you’ve both met Clarke.” Marcus said, irked by his words. “She called me here tonight, seems our friend in the chair here is causing some trouble.”

“What did he do?” Miller asked, eyeing Clarke with concern.

“He attacked me.” She explained.

“How’d you get caught up in all this anyway?” Murphy asked. Clarke turned to Marcus for advice, with a look she hoped said _“Can I trust them?”_. He responded with a nod.

“Bellamy trusts them. You can too.” Marcus said.

Clarke cleared her throat, preparing herself to say something she’d never said out loud before. “Uh… I don’t know if we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Clarke Griffin, daughter of Apollo.”

“Nathan Miller. Nice to officially meet you.” Miller said. 

“John Murphy.” Murphy introduced himself. Then, to Marcus, “You’re expecting her to fly under the radar with a last name like Griffin? You trying to get her killed?”

“That was out of my hands.” Marcus snapped. He sighed, addressing Clarke. “You’d never guess it, at least in John’s case, but both he and Nathan are sons of Eros, the God of Love.”

The ‘Staff Only’ door swung open once again, but only Bellamy emerged. “Octavia’s sleeping here tonight, she’s exhausted. We talked a little, but she’s upset and honestly she’s drunk, so I’m going to talk to her properly tomorrow, then we’re gonna pack up and leave.”

“You’re leaving?” Clarke was speechless. 

“Like I told you, if it gets too dangerous for Octavia I’m not going to stick around.” Bellamy said.

“Does that mean we’re fired?” Murphy pointed to himself and Miller, startling Bellamy.

“When did you two get here?” Bellamy shook his head. “Actually, it doesn’t matter. What matters is finding out what Cage knows then getting out of here.” He walked purposefully towards Cage’s chair to wake him up.

Marcus got in his way, stopping him. “That’s a bad idea, Bellamy. Clarke told me Cage recognised you, that means both you and Clarke are in danger. I can’t protect the two of you, or Octavia, if you’re in different parts of the country. Like it or not, this is your fight too. You need to stay in Arkadia." 

The men stared each other down for a tense minute, before Bellamy let out a breath and took a step back. “Fine. But Octavia gets self-defence lessons – from a demigod. No use having a human teach her if she might have to fight off someone stronger than that. I’d do it myself, but I’d go easy on her. I don’t think I could hurt her even if it isn’t real.”

“Okay.” Marcus took a step back too, rubbing his temple in thought. “I’ll have to find someone trustworthy, that might take time.”

“I might know someone.” Clarke interposed. “Or at least, Chiron might.”

“That’s a good idea, Chiron trains the best.” Marcus acknowledged.

“Meh, don’t know about that – I think we turned out pretty good without him.” Murphy chimed in.

“Hey guys? Shut up for a second.” Miller interrupted. His words surprised Clarke; she took him for the quiet, gentle type. It must have surprised the others too, as the men hushed, waiting for Miller to speak again. “I think he’s waking up.”

All eyes fell to Cage, who was stirring, and had begun to groan. Bellamy reached his chair and began slapping his cheek in an attempt to bring him round. “Wake up. Time for a family chat.” As Cage slowly came to, Bellamy turned to Clarke. “You don’t have to be here for this.” It wasn’t a dismissal; his voice was gentle. To Clarke, it sounded more like concern.

“No. I want to be.” She said.

He bowed his head slightly, acknowledging her choice to stay. “Hermes, can you work your magic here? Children of Ares don’t tend to crack under pressure, we might need some of your influence.”

Marcus nodded, walking over to the chair. “I can make him think he’s talking to Ares, but the pretence won’t last long.” He then spoke to Clarke. “Not only am I the messenger of the Gods and the God of trade, I’m also the God of trickery. I can’t perform true magic, only illusions. But for circumstances like this, that’s good enough.” He placed his hand on Cage’s forehead, presumably planting some sort of illusion in his mind. By the time he removed his hand, Cage seemed to have come around.

“Father!” He addressed Marcus. “I found the child of Apollo. She’s in Arkadia, her name is Clarke Griffin.”

Bellamy beckoned Clarke to follow him as he joined Murphy and Miller behind the bar, so that only Marcus was in Cage’s line of sight.

“Good work, my son. You shall be rewarded for your efforts.” Marcus answered. “Tell me, how did you come about this information?”

“I seduced an oracle.” Cage bragged. “She told me about Apollo’s lyre, and claimed she had a vision of a bar in Arkadia where I could find the girl. But that’s not all I found there.”

“No? Tell me more.” Marcus continued, shooting glances to Bellamy and Clarke.

“You’ll never guess who owns the bar. Top of your Most Wanted list: Bellamy Blake.” Cage sounded smug.

“Really? That is most fascinating. Who else knows all of this?”

“No one. I didn’t want to share the reward when I was capable of doing all of this myself. I came to the bar alone. I attacked Clarke on my own, I…” He trailed off. Marcus began to look worried; the illusion must be fading. “Where’s my knife?” Cage wondered out loud.

Clarke gasped. She had forgotten she’d picked it up after the attack. Patting down her pockets, she felt it in her jacket and took it out. Looking at it up close she saw how detailed it was. A delicate but sharp dagger with an ornately carved wooden handle. The grooves seemed to glisten as if melted gold had been poured in, and the blade itself was jet black. It felt strange to admit, but Clarke thought it was beautiful. She showed it to Bellamy, who examined it carefully.

“Where am I?” Cage asked. He began to struggle in the chair. “You’re not my father. Who are you? Do you know who I am? My father will have you sent to the depths of Tartarus for this!”

Marcus didn’t respond, but with a flick of the wrist, Cage stopped speaking. Marcus approached the bar. “Gagging illusion. He thinks he doesn’t have a tongue.”

Bellamy let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. “Well, at least no one other than the oracles know who we are.”

“Great.” Said Murphy, with a clap of his hands. “So, we kill him?”

“No!” Everyone replied in chorus.

“I’ll take him to Chiron, have him perform a memory wipe. He won’t even remember meeting the oracle when he’s through with him. Won’t be a danger to anyone.” Marcus said.

“Good plan.” Bellamy agreed, and Marcus banged his staff on the floor once again. This time, the snakes slithered back into their place on the Caduceus and turned silver again. Marcus placed his arm on Cage’s shoulder, and in an instant, they both disappeared. “Murphy, Miller, could you give us a minute?”

They nodded, leaving Clarke and Bellamy alone. “We haven’t really had a chance to breathe yet tonight. How are you? Did he hurt you?” He asked.

“I’m okay, he just scared me. Pulled out that knife but didn’t cut me.” She reassured him. “Thanks for checking in on me though, it’s sweet.”

“You should keep it. The dagger.” He suggested, taking her by surprise. “It’s made by Ares, which means it’s the best quality weapon you can get. It’ll never fail you in a battle.”

It pained her to admit it, but holding the dagger brought her some comfort – it made her feel she had a chance if anything like that ever happened again. She pocketed the knife. Suddenly, she felt herself welling up. She tried to force the tears back, but that just drew Bellamy’s attention to them.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked, his voice the softest she’d ever heard it.

Clarke took a shaky breath. “I just… I can’t believe this is my life now. Last week I was stressed about exams, and now…” she struggled to find the words. “Almost everyone I know has been lying to me all my life, my dad isn’t my real dad, I’m a _demigod_ , and someone just threatened to _kill_ me. I don’t… Bellamy I don’t know how to handle this.” Her voice broke.

Bellamy held her close, wrapping her in a tight embrace. She returned it instantly, not realising how badly she needed comfort until now. “You’re okay. You’ll be okay.” He murmured. “We’ll figure this out together.”

“Together.” She echoed; her face buried in his shoulder. Together sounded good.

When they broke apart, Clarke had calmed down. “Thank you.” She looked Bellamy straight in the eyes. “You saved my life tonight.”

He smiled. “Just doing what any good friend would do.”

Friend. Clarke liked that. “How did you know I needed help? I didn’t scream.”

“One of my abilities. As much as I like to avoid it, I’m a Son of Ares. I can sense when someone I care about is in danger.” He explained.

She playfully nudged his shoulder. “You care about me, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess I do.” He admitted. “If you told me that two days ago I’d laugh in your face, but things change.” He smirked, and she laughed brightly, before her face fell into a more serious expression.

“What did Cage mean when he said you were Ares’ Number 1 Most Wanted?” Clarke asked, hoping she wasn’t overstepping a boundary. “Why does the God of War want you so badly?”

He sighed, leaning against the bar for support. “When the Gods aren’t at war, Ares doesn’t have a lot to do. To pass the time, he comes to Earth and sleeps with humans; needless to say he has a lot of kids. Works out well for him, he’s basically got a whole army of demigod children as soldiers that are devoted to him.”

“But you’re not.”

He managed a small smile. “No, I’m not. Ares tries to buy our loyalty with gold, and usually that works pretty well. Join his army for a certain number of years and you get paid. I did that for a while – I trained under him with the other Children of Ares, and I was _good_. We’re all great fighters naturally, but I figured out that one of my abilities is excelling at hand-to-hand combat. I’m pretty good with a sword too, but I work better without weapons… that caught his attention; put me on his radar.”

“So what changed?”

A beat. “My mom died. She got sick, it all happened so fast I didn’t really have time to plan anything. Then it was just me and Octavia. She was starting college, I couldn’t be away from her, and I needed money. So, I took the gold and ran. It was hard, especially at first, to stay undetected. Hermes – Marcus – he helped a lot with that. I wouldn’t be alive today if it wasn’t for him. Ares went mad with rage when he found out I had deserted my post. I heard he killed some of his own soldiers over it. That was 3 years ago, and Ares is still searching for me. Whether he wants me for my abilities or just to make an example of me I don’t know, but either way I don’t want anything to do with him.”

Clarke let out a breath. “Bellamy, I don’t know what to say… you’ve been on the run for 3 years?”

“Sometimes I regret ever joining his army, but it was the only place I knew that would help me understand what was happening to me when my abilities appeared; I didn’t have someone like Chiron. Besides, the promise of gold was something that sucked me in.”

“No, you did what you had to do. For Octavia. But I’m glad you got out of there alive.” Clarke caught a glance at the clock on the wall behind him. “I should go, it’s late.”

“I’ve got to stay here with O, I’ll get Murphy to take you home. Non-negotiable.” He added, when he saw Clarke about to protest.

“Okay.” She gave in, as Bellamy called Murphy in.

-

As it turned out, Murphy wasn’t bad company. They had spent the walk home talking about Clarke’s situation, and Murphy listened patiently, offering his input only when Clarke asked for it. When they reached Clarke’s apartment, she invited him in – partly because the apartment felt too quiet without Octavia, partly because she was still a little on edge, and partly because she was actually starting to like him.

“Have you eaten today? You’ve had a bit of a crazy week.” Murphy asked, wandering to her kitchen.

On cue, her stomach growled. “Uh, I guess I must have forgotten to have dinner.” She replied, embarrassed. “I can order takeout.”

“No need,” Murphy opened her fridge with a smirk. “I’m an amazing cook.”

While he grabbed some ingredients and started chopping vegetables, Clarke took the opportunity to learn more about him. “You don’t seem to like Marcus all that much.”

“Hmm?” Murphy hummed in confusion. “Oh, you mean Hermes. I’m not used to his human name. Uh, yeah, we don’t always see eye to eye on things, but I respect him. Maybe I give him too much of a hard time.” He admitted, as he tossed pieces of chicken breast with diced onion into a heated pan. The loud sizzle of oil warranted a pause in conversation while Clarke digested his answer.

“What do you disagree about?” she asked.

“Methods, mostly. He’s too moral for his own good and I keep telling him it’ll come back to bite him in the ass one day. I just care about surviving.” He tossed in the peppers he had chopped earlier.

“Smells good.” Clarke commented, causing Murphy to grin. “He mentioned you were a son of Eros?”

“Yeah, Miller is too.” He confirmed.

“Would you be offended if I told you I’d never heard of him?” Clarke asked cautiously.

Murphy practically cackled. “Not even a little bit. I wouldn’t know who he was either if I were you. He’s the son of Aphrodite and Ares.” 

Clarke’s eyebrows shot up. Aphrodite made sense, but Aphrodite and  _Ares_? That was a match she didn’t see coming. “Wait, does that mean…” She did a quick family tree in her head. “Does that make Bellamy your uncle?”

Murphy shuddered. “Ew, gross, no. Family doesn’t work the same way with the Gods as it does with humans. ‘Blood relatives’ aren’t really a thing, otherwise we’d all be inbred. It’s easier to think of everyone as individuals from different families, but any ‘relatives’ are more like allies.”

“Alliances break.” Clarke pointed out.

“That they do. One thing humans and Gods have in common. Maybe it’s more accurate to say there’s an _expectation_ of an alliance.”

“So, Asclepius isn’t _really_ my brother?” she asked.

Murphy considered that for a moment. “In spirit, he is. In terms of DNA, less so. Anyway, enough of that –” he raided her spice rack and sprinkled some in to the pan, giving it a quick mix before gathering some on a wooden spoon. “Open wide, stir-fry time.”

He brought the spoon to Clarke’s mouth, and she took a tentative bite. _Holy shit, that’s good_. “Oh wow. Murphy, that tastes incredible – what did you put in that?”

He gave her a smug smile. “Told you I was a good cook. Thanks to my father, not only am I a _killer_ with the ladies but I can also cook up a storm. They say the way to someone’s heart is through their stomach, after all.”

“Thanks for staying, by the way. You didn’t have to keep me company.” Clarke said as he split the stir fry into two bowls.

He passed her one. “You’re not bad to talk to, Griffin. But actually I kind of did. Bellamy’s orders.”

“What?” her voice was muffled by food, but her surprised tone was noticeable.

Murphy scratched the back of his head, as if sheepish. “He asked me to stay with you until I was sure you were okay. He was just worried about you after tonight.” Clarke didn’t reply, so he added, “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to be here. I was worried about you too.”

Clarke felt a little betrayed. Even though she only met these people a few days ago, once you’ve been through something like that together it really brings you close. And Bellamy thought she needed a babysitter? “Actually, I should probably go to bed. Chiron wants to start training tomorrow. You should go home too.”

“Clarke, I didn’t mean to-”

“Thanks for the food, John. Goodnight.” She interrupted him, heading to her room.

He could see himself out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I love writing Murphy. And he can cook!!! for those worried about demigods being related, I hope this chapter cleared that up. And we got to learn a little more about Bellamy's backstory! In the next chapter, Clarke starts training with Chiron. Stay tuned! x


	6. Gymnasium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gymnasium: in Ancient Greece, a gymnasium functioned as a training facility for competitors in public games.

When Chiron told Clarke to meet him at the University gym, she was a little confused. At the very least it would draw attention from the other students if she was seen training with a Professor, and it would be outright bizarre if they were seen practicing archery or self-defence. But Clarke trusted him, so she kitted up and headed for the water fountain they agreed to meet at.

“Clarke, right on time.” Chiron greeted her as she approached. “Follow me.”

“Chir- uh, Professor Black, how are we supposed to train here with everyone watching?” She asked as they walked down the hallway, glancing at the training rooms on either side of her filled with students. The squeak of shoes against the floor filled her ears from the basketball court on her right, while students on the treadmills looked straight ahead at them from the equipment room on her left.

“Look at the end of the corridor.” Chiron said.

Clarke did as he asked, but what she saw didn’t answer her question. “I just see a blank wall.”

“Look again – with your God’s eye this time.”

Clarke lifted her imaginary second set of eyelids, revealing a hidden door at the far end of the hallway. She gasped in awe, and Chiron surreptitiously surveyed their surroundings to make sure no one was looking at them before opening the door.

“Welcome to the Gymnasium.” He said, guiding her inside.

As the door closed behind them, all the background noise from the student gym faded like she had dived underwater. Inside was a warrior’s wet dream: a vast space with separate training areas dedicated to different weapons and skills. Clarke could see an area with padded floor for sparring, a wall lined with spears, throwing knives and axes next to mannequins with targets decorating the head and chest. There was a rack filled with swords of different sizes and metals, as well as an archery station. One of the only things you might see in a regular gym was a boxing ring, with a punching bag and racks of mitts nearby. It was there that Clarke saw the only other person in the Gymnasium, hitting the punching bag with such force she was surprised it didn’t fly off of its chain. He was tall, with dark skin and well-defined muscles and a striking tattoo on his chest. Despite his size, he was light on his feet, floating back and forth with his punches. He was clearly a skilled fighter.

Chiron noticed her staring. “That’s another student of mine. He’s a Son of Athena – the Goddess of wisdom and battle. I’ve been training him for eight years now, and he’s one of my best. He’ll be assisting me with your training. You can trust him.”

This gave Clarke an idea. “Do you know Bellamy Blake? Son of Ares?”

“I’ve heard the name; Ares certainly isn’t happy with him. Why do you ask?” He replied.

“He’s a friend of mine. His sister Octavia is human, but she found out about demigods when I was attacked last night. Bellamy thinks she might be in danger, and we think she should get some basic fighting skills. Would he be able to teach her too?” Clarke enquired.

Chiron pursed his lips in thought. “I don’t see why not.” Clarke broke into a relieved smile. “Bring her with you the next time you train, and he can spar with her. For now let’s focus on you.”

The demigod heard them talking and threw off his gloves, jogging over to them. “I’m Lincoln, Son of Athena. Nice to meet you.” Despite his intense workout, he was barely out of breath.

He held out his hand for Clarke to shake, and she took it, introducing herself. “Clarke, daughter of Apollo. Thanks for doing this.”

“Not a problem. Chiron talks about you a lot; I was interested to meet you. You look a lot like your father.” Lincoln replied, much to Clarke’s surprise.

“You’ve met my father?” She spluttered.

“Once, in passing. My mother took me to meet some of her closest allies once upon a time, Apollo included. He has blonde hair and blue eyes, just like you.” Clarke was stunned into silence, her head spinning. She had never really pictured Apollo before, but know her mind was creating hundreds of different versions of her father in her head. Was he tall or short? Old or young? Lean or muscular? Did he have sharp or soft features?

“Clarke?” Chiron asked.

“Hmm?”

“I said, are you ready to begin?” He said. Clarke must have been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she tuned the rest of the world out.

"Yeah, sorry, let’s start.” She replied, and Chiron walked with her towards the archery range while Lincoln stretched his muscles out, limbering up before their sparring session to come.

There were bows and arrows made of wood, various metals, silver, and gold, some ornate and some simple. The fletching on the arrows varied too; some with actual feathers, others with what she assumed was lightweight plastic. “Firstly, choose your bow. This is important; the one you choose here will stay with you your whole life. You can weigh each one up and try them first, if you like. Or if you feel drawn to one in particular, I suggest you trust it – that’s often a sign from the Gods.” Chiron explained.

Clarke was overwhelmed by choices. It would take her an age to test out every bow here, so instead she hovered her and over the bow rack, slowly moving it over each of the bows. When she reached a slender, golden bow, she felt a pull. Picking it up and feeling the weight in her hands, she studied it. It was simple, no carved decorations or gemstones implanted into the ends. It was lightweight; she could imagine holding it up for a long time without tiring. She held it up as if an arrow was fitted and tugged the string back with her finger. The resistance felt good, and as she released she felt a cool whip of air rush past her face. Clarke smiled; this was the one. 

“I should have known. Your father and his sister both carry golden bows, so it makes sense that this one chose you.” Chiron mused.

“His sister?”

“Yes, his twin sister Artemis is the Goddess of the Hunt. The creation of archery is credited to the both of them. You remind me of her some; you’re both incredibly strong women, and self-reliant too.” Clarke shot him a pleasant smile as he fetched her the matching quiver and arrows. “Stand here… sideways on from the target, keeping your feet in line with your shoulders.” She followed his instructions, standing opposite a paper target. “When you feel ready, nock an arrow and draw the string back, and trust your instincts to aim. Take a deep breath, and as you exhale… release.”

Other than the dagger she took from Cage, which was currently strapped to her thigh, she had never touched a weapon before. She had certainly never intended to use one, even for sport. Yet here she stood, with a loaded bow, feeling perfectly at peace. It was as if the bow and arrow were extensions of herself; something perfectly natural for her to be doing. Lining the target up in her head, she took a deep breath in, and as she relaxed, she let the arrow fly. It landed one ring away from a bullseye.

“Excellent, Clarke, especially for your first time. As I suspected, you’re a natural.” Chiron beamed. “Your aim is good; I suspect your stance may have been at fault there. Don’t lock your knees, and keep your position neutral. Out of curiosity, I’d like you to try something. The next time you release an arrow, imagine the target catching fire as it hits.”

Clarke’s eyes widened. “What?”

“It’s just an experiment. Don’t worry, I can douse flames if necessary.” He reassured her.

Again, Clarke nocked an arrow, this time adjusting her stance as Chiron suggested. As she loosed the arrow, she pictured the tip igniting as it struck the target board. To her disbelief, the target burst into flames just as she visualised in her head.

Chiron chucked to himself, raising his hand and muttering an incantation that caused water to spray from his palm, extinguishing the flames. “You’re even more like your father than I thought. Clarke, I know you have already discovered you have the power to heal, but I believe we’ve just discovered another of your abilities.”

“Apollo could shoot arrows of fire?” She questioned.

“That and more, as I suspect you’ll be able to. It doesn’t matter what your arrow is made from, what matters is your intention. If you shoot an arrow with the intent to simply pierce the skin, that is what you’ll do. But if you wish to ignite something, cause an explosion, or cause someone to lose consciousness, it will happen simply because you want it to – as long as the arrow hits its mark, that is. Your father was even known to cause his enemies disease by firing an arrow at them.”

Clarke would have let out a low whistle, if she knew how. “That’s incredible,” she said breathlessly.

“That’s enough archery for today, I’m sure Lincoln is anxious to teach you some combat skills. Pass me your bow?” Chiron requested, and she gave him her bow and quiver. She watched as he packed them into a pouch and performed some sort of enchantment on it, causing it to shrink to the size of a coin purse. “A simple shrinking charm. Keep this on your person – you could fit it in a pocket, or in your bag. When you need it, the weapon will become fully sized, and when you put it away it will return to more travel-friendly dimensions.”

Clarke tucked the pouch safely into her gym bag before walking over to the mats, where Lincoln was waiting. “Oh, and Clarke?” Chiron called, causing her to look over her shoulder. “Talk to your mother. She’s worried about you.” Clarke nodded, continuing on her way. 

“We’ll start with the basics, okay?” Lincoln got straight to business. “Show me how you make a fist.”

Clarke formed a fist and presented it to him, making sure her thumb was curled over her index and middle fingers.

“That’s a good start, a lot of people tuck their thumb in the first time – that’s a good way to break your thumb on impact. Now for your stance: are you right or left handed?” Lincoln continued.

“Left.” Clarke answered.

“You’re a southpaw? That’ll work in your favour. Most people are right-handed, so they’re used to fighting right-handed people. You might throw them off just by having a different dominant hand.” He explained. Clarke felt like she already had an advantage, which was nice considering she had never been in a real fight before. “Stand with your right hand and right foot forward. I know it seems counter-intuitive for a leftie to lead with your right hand, but this means you can throw your whole body into a left handed punch.”

Lincoln launched into an explanation of jabs, crosses and hooks – Clarke tried to remember the terminology for each of the punches, but she was sure she’d forget as soon as she left the room. He explained that boxing involves the whole body; she had to stay light on her feet so she could dodge, engage her core so she could put power behind her swings, and of course, she needed strong arms so she could land a solid punch and parry any blows aimed at her face. Once she felt like she had a grasp of the basic moves, Lincoln decided to throw her into the deep end. “Alright, Clarke, let’s see what you’re made of. Use whatever combination of moves seems natural to you, and remember to dodge my hits. I know this is a very artificial setting and in a real fight there will be a lot of distractions, so we’re gonna keep up a conversation while we spar. Remember to make sure your punches land centrally, with your middle finger hitting me first. A glancing blow will break your pinkie.”

That triggered a memory from one of Clarke’s hospital placements. “I learned about that on my ortho rotation, we call it a boxer’s fracture.”

“That’s right,” Lincoln smiled, impressed. “Are you ready?” He asked, and when she nodded, he stepped forward to throw a cross.

Clarke jumped back, barely dodging the punch. “Chiron talks about you all the time. He’s a little biased towards children of Apollo.” Lincoln made conversation as promised.

She powered forwards, throwing a jab-cross-jab at him before backing off. “Why’s that?”

“Chiron was abandoned when he was young, Apollo practically raised him. Feels like he owes it to him to look after his children. You can hit harder than that.” He replied. Clarke had to duck to miss the hook aimed for her jaw.

Lincoln was right, it was hard to concentrate on boxing while having a conversation with someone. Clarke made a misstep, and Lincoln’s next jab landed on her cheek. She stumbled back, but recovered quickly, returning with a jab-cross combination. “So you’re a son of Athena? She’s the Goddess of battle strategy; what makes her different from Ares?”

“Wisdom. Ares is battle _without_ the strategy – just mindless violence. They hate each other. That punch was better.” He replied, before suddenly sweeping her legs out from underneath her. She fell flat on her back, winded. “Remember to keep an eye on your opponent’s legs too. We’ll cover kicks next time.” 

He offered her his hand out to help her up, and she accepted it. Once she was standing, he clapped her on the back with a smile. “You did really well. Sorry about the, uh…” He gestured to her cheek. If the strength of his punch was anything to go by, she figured it would bruise.

“I’ll heal, don’t worry about it. Thanks, Lincoln.” She reassured him between panting breaths. He shook her hand and brought her into a brief side-hug before letting go. Clarke said her goodbyes to Chiron and Lincoln before heading home.

-

Every inch of her body ached. Even after a long soak in the bath and doing some stretches Octavia taught her, she was completely wiped out. She collapsed onto her bed, feeling like she was still catching her breath. Medical textbooks and stationery littered Clarke’s desk, but her walls were filled with photographs of her and her friends. She pinned fairy lights up around her bed so she could read late at night without the harsh light of her bedside lamp. Her favourite sketches were taped to the walls too; some of them for study, like the anatomically accurate diagram of the human heart she drew, but others were of people. Her eyes fell to a portrait of her mother she had painted, and guilt filled her chest. Clarke remembered what Chiron said to her at the Gymnasium, and reached for her phone to dial her number.

Abby answered on the first ring. “Clarke? Are you okay?” she sounded anxious.   

“Hi, mom,” Clarke answered. “I’m okay. I just wanted to say I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. But after everything that’s happened the last few days… I should have listened to you.”

“Oh, baby. It’s okay.” Abby’s tone betrayed relief. “I didn’t expect you to believe me straight away, I know how insane this all sounds. I’m just glad you’re alright.”

Clarke thought back to their last conversation. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”  
  
“What did you mean when you said Jake married you to keep me safe?” 

She sighed. “When I found out I was pregnant, your father was long gone. I don’t blame him for that, he had no idea you existed. I went to Marcus for help – as you know, he’s been a friend of mine since before you were born, but you may not know that he was the one who introduced me to Apollo. He convinced me it was safer for you to be kept a secret from your father. If people heard there was a new demigod, that could attract trouble. Marcus knew from experience that single parents draw extra attention from those who seek out demigods, so I told my best friend. That was Jake. He immediately suggested we get married, but Marcus thought that wasn’t enough; he wanted us to change our last names to hide us even more. I chose Griffin – a little tie to Greek mythology to remind me of your father.” Clarke could hear the smile in her mother’s voice.

“So you and dad – I mean, Jake – you never…?” Clarke trailed off, unsure how to finish her question.

Abby chuckled lightly. “We spent 19 years married to each other and raising a child together. I’d be lying if I said we never felt anything more than friendship for each other, but it was complicated. I’ll always love him, and I’ll always wear his wedding ring around my neck. He’s a part of who I am. He’s a part of you, too.”

Clarke smiled. “I know. Blood doesn’t make a parent, love does. I loved him, and I know he loved me too. He’ll always be my real dad.”

Clarke could swear she heard Abby sniff. “Exactly.” They sat in a comfortable silence, before she heard someone call Abby’s name in the background. “I’m sorry baby, I have to get back to work. Let’s talk again soon.”

“Of course. I love you, Mom.”

“Love you too.” Abby said, then the line went quiet. 

-

Clarke couldn’t ignore the rumble in her stomach any longer. She got up from bed to heat up the leftover stir-fry for her dinner, and thought of Murphy. Perhaps she had been too harsh on him last night, after all he did sound genuine when he said he was worried about her. Plus, the aroma of the spices emanating from her bowl were divine – if making amends with Murphy got her more of his cooking, she’d happily grovel at his feet. She really was a slave to her stomach.

Just as she was finishing up, there was a knock at her door. She swung it open, revealing Raven, with the biggest smile she’s ever seen. “I know I’m showing up unannounced, but you weren’t answering your phone, and I – oh my god, Clarke, what happened to your face?”

Clarke’s hand shot up to her bruised cheek. “Oh! Nothing, I just hit it on something stupid. Come in! What’s up?”

Raven sat on the couch as Clarke trailed behind her. Clarke noticed the redness creeping up Raven’s cheeks – _was she blushing?_ “I just got back from a date.” Raven explained. “Remember that cute bartender that wrote me a note?”

“Murphy? You went on a date with Murphy?” Clarke asked. Raven nodded. “I wasn’t sure if you were over the whole ‘cockroach that ruined my shirt’ phase with him.”

She laughed, digging through her pockets to find something. “Here, this is what he wrote me.”

Clarke took the piece of paper from Raven and unfolded it, revealing a note written in scratchy hand-writing. 

 

_Raven,_

_Sorry about your shirt, I figure I owe you one of mine so we’re even. You can wear it the morning after if you like. Call me if you’re interested._

_Sincerely,_

_The cockroach_

_(aka John Murphy, the only handsome bartender in this place)_

 

The note finished with a phone number scribbled at the bottom. Clarke laughed, it seemed like such a ‘Murphy’ thing to do. “Very suggestive,” Clarke commented, handing back the note.

“I like that in a guy. I talked to him last night at the bar to set up a date and we had dinner together today. He cooked; it was really romantic. And oh my _God_ , I’ve had professional meals that don’t even come close to how his food tastes.” She paused, biting her lip. “I really like him, Clarke.”

She pulled Raven into a hug. “I’m glad, you deserve to be happy, Raven.” Clarke could see the two of them together, and wondered fleetingly if Murphy would tell her about demigods at some point.

As they embraced, Clarke’s phone buzzed. “Clarke, you’re vibrating.” Raven joked. They broke apart, and Clarke saw 3 texts from the same unknown number.

 

_Unknown: Clarke, it’s Bellamy. Got your number from Kane._

_Unknown: Come to Symposium, now._

_Unknown: Emergency_

 

Raven saw the panic fall on Clarke’s face. “What is it? Is everything okay?”

“Raven I’m so sorry, I have to go. We’ll catch up again soon, yeah?” Clarke apologised, gathering her coat and bag, making sure to pack her bow. She surreptitiously patted her thigh, checking her dagger still rested in its strap.

“Yeah, of course – go do what you need to do, I’ll show myself out.”

-

Clarke sprinted across campus towards Symposium. The rain was so heavy that the traffic was insane, making it faster to run. Grey clouds rolled overhead, grumbling as they moved. The air felt alive; electric and dangerous, unlike any other storm she had experienced before. She burst through the doors to the bar as a bolt of lightning lit up the sky behind her. Inside were Bellamy and Kane, looking restless. “What’s the emergency?” Clarke asked them both, getting her breath back as she shook off her coat and tried to dry herself off.

Bellamy’s head perked up, looking at her with concern. “Clarke, what happened to your face?” He jogged to her side, pushing her hair out of her face to reveal her bruised cheek. His nostrils flared. “Is that from Cage? Did he hit you?”

“No, it’s nothing, just training with Chiron. I’m okay, I promise.” She said, and he calmed down. “What’s going on?” A rumble of thunder echoed through the bar.

Marcus answered her, trepidation in his voice. “Apollo just confessed that he lost the lyre. The Gods are angry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just as a disclaimer I know nothing about archery and boxing - this was done through google and guesswork!
> 
> so we have a new demigod and a new ability for Clarke! and things are definitely heating up in Olympus - something's got to be done soon...
> 
> thanks for reading x


	7. Thunderbolt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thunderbolt: the main weapon carried by Zeus – King of the Gods, and God of the Sky, Lightning, Thunder, and Justice

“What does that mean for us?” Clarke asked, taking a seat by Bellamy and Marcus.

“For right now, it means we’re trapped here.” Bellamy sighed, pointing a finger at the ceiling. “That storm out there means Zeus is _pissed_.”

Clarke turned and faced the window. “So that’s not a natural storm?” The clouds were practically black now, the sky only illuminated by ephemeral flashes of lightning.

“No, it’s a reflection of Zeus’ emotional state.” Marcus explained. “And those lightning strikes are actually from his thunderbolt – no doubt he’s brandishing it at the Gods as we speak. Now that the storm has picked up, it’s too dangerous to go outside.”

“You can disappear whenever you want.” Clarke challenged.

“Strictly speaking, I could. But Zeus’ storms interfere with my ability to travel; I don’t always end up where I want to go, and that means I risk being seen. It would be too unsafe to bring either of you with me, as my power might attract a thunderbolt strike. It would injure me, but it would almost certainly kill you.”

“We just have to ride it out inside.” Bellamy added.

“It might be prudent to use this as an opportunity to brainstorm, if you’ll excuse the pun.” Marcus suggested. “Now that all of the Gods know about the lyre, the pressure to find it before Ares does is even higher.”

Clarke’s attention was still fixed on the spitting rain outside. “Why Arkadia?” She locked eyes with Marcus. “Why is Zeus’s storm here and not in some city half the world away?”

He leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath. “Actually, it _is_ happening in cities half the world away – as well as Arkadia. Wherever there is an entrance to Olympus, the emotions of the Gods can affect the weather. There’s a forest about halfway between Arkadia and Polis. Somewhere in there, far enough away that humans wouldn’t stumble across it, but close enough for Gods and Goddesses to find their way to civilisation, there is a doorway of sorts. Of course there’s a warding charm around the entrance to be cautious, but humans wouldn’t be able to cross the barrier regardless. Passing through that doorway will take you to Olympus.”

Clarke’s eyebrow twitched up. “I would have thought the entrance to Olympus would be in Greece.”

“The Fates dictate that wherever demigods reside, there must also be an entrance to Olympus nearby. Back in Ancient times, you would be right – but now demigods are spread all over the globe. You two are living proof of that.”

Bellamy stood up and walked to the window, crossing his arms. “How are we supposed to find the lyre before Ares? It could be anywhere, and he has children in every corner of the world that can search for the lyre for him. We only have ourselves.”

“We don’t need to search every corner of the world.” Marcus leaned forward; eyes bright. “I was with Apollo the last time he was on Earth – the only time he could have dropped the lyre.”

“Where was that?” Bellamy whipped around to face him.

Marcus shot an uneasy glance at Clarke. “Arkadia. About 23 years ago.”

Both the men’s eyes were now on Clarke, who shifted in her seat. “So the last time he came to Earth was when he…”

“Met your mother? Yes.” Marcus confirmed. “He was actually visiting me at the time, seeing how I lived as a human. Abby bumped into us, and he was quite taken by her.”

Clarke buried her head in her hands. “Oh gods, please stop talking.”

Bellamy placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. Mercifully, he redirected the conversation. “So the lyre must be somewhere nearby.”

“Yes, and thankfully if Apollo _does_ remember his last trip to Earth, then he hasn’t shared it with the other Gods. Not that Zeus would let him get a word in edgeways; as soon as Apollo came clean, Zeus began one of his rants.”

“How do we find it? We can’t exactly do a grid search of the whole area of Arkadia.” Bellamy asked. “And someone would have found it already if it was in plain sight.”

Clarke tilted her head, resting her chin on her hand. “Can’t we just ask Apollo to retrace his steps?”

“Absolutely not.” Marcus locked eyes with her, unblinking. “I can’t risk exposing you like that. Besides, Ares will be watching Apollo like a hawk. If he comes here, Ares might send someone to follow him, and that could lead him to the lyre. We’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.” 

Clarke’s head perked up. “Unless we don’t. I’ve got a couple of friends that are pretty amazing with technology – I’m pretty sure one of them got a ‘cease and desist’ letter from the NSA because she wouldn’t stop breaking through their firewalls. If there’s ever been a record of the lyre in the news or online, Raven and Monty will find it.”

Marcus hesitated. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? The more people know about you, the more likely it is you’ll be discovered.”

“Octavia knows about us. So does my mom.” She countered.

“Before we do anything, we need to know what they’re saying up on Olympus. Based on that, we can decide if we need some more helping hands. Sound fair?” Bellamy suggested, sitting back down. When neither Clarke nor Kane fought him on it, he resumed. “Okay Hermes, head back up there now before anyone realises you’re missing the meeting. Catch us up to speed when the storm passes.” 

Marcus didn’t wait for approval or goodbyes, simply evaporating with the same ease that Clarke or Bellamy might feel in flexing a muscle.

“And then there were two.” Clarke muttered. The weather outside showed no sign of slowing down. Her thoughts drifted to the last time she was here, and remembered that she and Bellamy might not be the only two people in the building after all. “How’s Octavia? I haven’t seen her since yesterday.”

“She’s okay, I think. A little overwhelmed, but she believes me. She left a couple hours ago, so she should have missed the storm.”

“She wasn’t home.” Clarke noted, furrowing her brows. “She’s probably at the dance studio; she goes there when she needs to think. If you still want her to learn how to defend herself, she’s welcome to come train with me. Chiron said Lincoln, a Son of Athena, could teach her. He’s the one that gave me this.” She sheepishly pointed to her cheek.

“Yeah, that would be great, thank you.” He sounded grateful. A loud rumble of thunder broke the silence, and a bright flash of lightning shone through the bar. Suddenly, the room plunged into darkness. “Damn. Storm must have downed a power line.”

Clarke heard him stand up. “Don’t move, I’ve got candles around here somewhere.” He stumbled around in the dark, swerving between areas he knew contained tables and chairs. During the brief flashes of lightning, Clarke could see him scramble behind the bar, nearly knocking over glasses and bottles along the way. The rustle of cupboards sounded promising, and she heard him shout a triumphant “A-ha!” before striking a match, lighting several candles and carrying them over to her.

Through the candlelight, Bellamy could see that she was still wet from the rain. Without power to the bar, he knew she would feel the cold soon. With a sigh, he took off his sweater and handed it to her. “Here. You’ll freeze.”

A flicker of surprise crossed her features. “Oh, thanks, but I’ll be alright.” 

“Power’s off, which means no heating. You’re still half-soaked, so unless you enjoy being an icicle…”

She pursed her lips for a moment, then accepted it with a small smile. “Thanks.” She pulled it on over her head, feeling instantly warmer thanks to the body heat still trapped inside. She was enveloped by the smell of him – citrus and sandalwood – still clinging on the soft fabric, which hung loosely on her frame. She let out a breathy laugh, a mischievous grin settling on her face. “You know what else we could do to stay warm?”

Bellamy stiffened. “What?” 

Clarke pointed to the bar. “Drink.” 

He chuckled, relaxing his posture. “That sounds like a great idea. Pink gin and tonic?”

“You read my mind.” She smiled, surprised he remembered her order from last night. Clarke watched as he grabbed a candle and used it to light his way to the bar, where he prepared her drink and a glass of bourbon for himself.

- 

An hour later, they were each about 4 drinks in and tipsy. After 30 minutes of insisting he was warm, Bellamy had caved and searched his apartment for blankets. He had considered inviting Clarke up there to be more comfortable but decided against it in case she took the offer the wrong way. The last thing he wanted to do was offend the only person he was stuck here with. The two of them wrapped the blanket around themselves and sat on the floor, their backs propped up against the bar, surrounded by candles.

“So you just jumped in?” she giggled, as Bellamy recounted a story.

“What was I supposed to do, I thought Octavia was drowning! I didn’t know she was just trying to get the hot lifeguard’s attention!”

Clarke threw her head back in laughter, hitting it against the metal pipe running along the bar. “Ow! Ugh, I’m an idiot.” She chuckled off her injury, rubbing the back of her head.

“You okay?” Bellamy asked, trying to hold back his own laughter.

“Yeah I’m fine.” She took a sip of her drink. His words, although joking this time, brought back memories of last night. “Why did you tell Murphy to keep an eye on me last night?”

The change of conversation startled him. “I was just worried about you after the whole Cage thing. It must have been scary for you.”

“I can handle myself.” She pouted, crossing her legs.

The corner of his mouth tilted up in a smile. “Brave Princess.”

She narrowed her eyes at him in mock annoyance at the nickname and play-hit him on the arm, which made him laugh. She cleared her throat a little, signalling a change in tone of their conversation. “Thanks again, for saving me. I don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t there.”

“Like I said, I care about you, Clarke.” He brushed her hair away from her face, exposing the bruise on her cheek. “I hate to see you hurt.”

Bellamy’s hand lingered by her cheek for a fraction longer than it needed to before he lowered it. His thumb grazed her lip as it passed down, sending Clarke’s heart rate fluttering. “Bellamy…” she started, unable to find the words. Her eyes flitted to his lips for a moment, before meeting his eyes.

He looked torn, as if struggling with himself in some internal battle. Then, whether it was liquid courage or the real thing, he made a decision. He leaned forward, closing the distance between them. About an inch away from her face, he hesitated. _Was he making a mistake?_

Before he had time to doubt himself, Clarke dropped her drink and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in to a kiss. Slow, gentle, _hesitant_ at first, but when Bellamy reciprocated the kiss deepened and flourished into something more. She tasked the smoky bourbon on his tongue, enjoying the way it mixed with the sweetness of her own drink. Lost in the moment, Bellamy moved closer, lowering Clarke to the floor as he peppered kisses along her jaw and down her neck. She let out a soft moan, then a panicked, “Bellamy!”

He sat up instantly, scanning the room for a threat. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“The alcohol – candles – flame!” She panted.

A thin line of fire about the length of a wine bottle broke out following the trail of Clarke’s spilled drink, and Bellamy frantically whipped the blanket off from them and smothered the flame. Thankfully there was no damage, and the two demigods caught their breath. Clarke was the first to splutter out a laugh, and soon Bellamy joined her, wrapping an arm around her as she sat up. 

“I think that was the most dramatic first kiss I’ve ever had.” Bellamy chuckled.

“Agreed.” Clarke exhaled. “Try again when we’re sober?”

She rested her head on his shoulder, and he leaned down to plant a kiss on the top of her head. “Sounds like a plan, Princess.”

They stayed like that for what seemed like an age, listening to the sounds of the storm still ongoing outside. The wind howled at the windows, and the constant patter of rain would have been comforting if it wasn’t so forceful. Clarke stifled a yawn. “What time is it?”

He checked his watch. “Just after ten. Looks like we might have to settle in overnight.”

“Let’s maybe do that away from the candles?” Clarke teased.

“Good idea.” He stood, offering his hand to help her up. “Let’s go upstairs.”

-

The next morning, Marcus found the two demigods fast asleep lying on top of Bellamy’s bed. Clarke’s arm was draped over Bellamy’s chest, their legs intertwined, as one of Bellamy’s arms cradled her neck. They looked so serene, and _youthful_ – he had become accustomed to seeing their faces lined with worry, but in that moment of utter peace their skin was smooth; their features soft. He considered letting them stay there for a while longer, but he knew there was no time to waste. Carefully, so as not to startle them, he shook them awake.

They jumped apart as soon as they realised they weren’t alone. “Hermes, what is it?” Bellamy asked, groggy. Clarke sat up slowly, stretching and rubbing her eyes.

“Apollo hasn’t told the other Gods anything helpful about the lyre, so hopefully we have a head start before Ares narrows its location down to Arkadia. Clarke, I think you’re right. After seeing the way the Gods were talking about the lyre… the more people we have on our side the better. Talk to your friends, let them help.” Marcus vanished; clearly he had said all he felt he needed to say – or perhaps he was embarrassed to have interrupted what looked like an intimate moment.

Bellamy and Clarke shared a look. “I guess I should call Raven and Monty. Should we tell them together?” Clarke asked.

He nodded. “Together.”

-

“Clarke, what’s the emergency? Is everything okay?” Raven rushed into Symposium shortly after receiving Clarke’s text. She wouldn’t normally be this energetic at 9am on a Sunday, but she remembered how panicked Clarke looked last night after her abrupt departure from the apartment.

“Raven, good, you’re here. This is Bellamy, Octavia’s brother.” She gestured to Bellamy. He was standing behind her making small talk with Monty, who had arrived about 5 minutes earlier.

Bellamy heard his name and greeted her. “We’ve met in passing at the bar, you must be Raven. Nice to properly meet you. Please, sit down.”

She and Monty took a seat, exchanging uneasy glances.

Clarke took a shaky breath. “We asked you here because we need your help. But before we get into that, there’s something you need to know first. It sounds insane, so, it’s easier if I show you.”

She took out her dagger, causing Monty to let out a small gasp of surprise. Clarke handed it to Bellamy, who dragged it across his palm, leaving a trail of blood.

“Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?” Monty was frantic.

Raven looked like she was about to be sick. “Oh God, is this some kind of blood cult thing? Because if so, I’m out.”

Clarke shot them a sympathetic look, before taking Bellamy’s injured hand between her own. She focused her energy on healing him, calling back to Chiron’s training – her abilities are based on intention. She pictured his cut healed completely, and when she removed her hands, Bellamy showed his palm to Monty and Raven; not a scratch on it.

A moment of disbelief followed, before Raven narrowed her eyes. “This is some kind of magic trick?”

“No, Raven, I wish it was that simple.” Clarke chuckled morosely. “Bellamy and I… we’re demigods.” If Clarke thought they seemed sceptical before, they looked downright insulted now. “The Greek Gods are real, and they have half-human children all across the world. My real father is Apollo, and Bellamy’s father is Ares.”

“Clarke can heal wounds, it’s one of her abilities.” Bellamy explained.

Monty sighed. “Clarke… if this is some kind of joke, I don’t get it.”

Bellamy looked to Clarke. “Should I call him?” She nodded, and he sent a quick text on his phone. Moments later, Marcus appeared in front of them.

Both Raven and Monty let out strangled screams of surprise at the figure in front of them. “What the hell…?” Raven trailed off.

“Good morning. I take it you two are Raven and Monty; Clarke told me you might need some convincing. I’m Hermes, messenger of the Gods and God of trade, commerce… et cetera. I know this must be hard to believe, but Clarke and Bellamy are telling the truth. If you’d like, I could provide further proof, but considering I just materialised out of thin air I realise that may be sufficient?”

After the stunned silence that followed, the group launched into a discussion about Greek Gods and Goddesses. Monty seemed more interested in the physics behind Marcus’ vanishing act – a question he felt was unanswered by Marcus’ response of a shrug and “I don’t know _how_ I do it, I just _can_ ”. Raven was shocked that Clarke could have kept this a secret from her, but acknowledged that it did explain her erratic behaviour the last several days. Once their questions and concerns were largely addressed, Clarke got back to the matter at hand.

“Apollo’s lyre is missing, somewhere in Arkadia, and if Ares finds it before we do then the world could end. So, _no pressure_ , but can you help us find it?” She asked.

Raven smirked. “Hell yeah we can.” Monty gave her a fist bump. “Let’s make Ares our bitch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay, med school is kicking my ass! hope to wrap things up in a few chapters, but exams are coming at me fast so we'll see how it goes! thanks for reading loves, until next time x


	8. Apollo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apollo: one of the most complex and important Gods in Greek mythology. He is the God of sun, light, oracles, knowledge, healing, diseases, music, poetry, songs, dance, archery, herds and flocks, and protection of young.

Raven slammed her fist on the table. “ _Dammit!_ ” It had been a little over 2 weeks since they started the search, but they were no closer to tracking down the lyre. “Monty, did you try widening the search parameters to include other stringed instruments?”

“Yeah, I even included guitars and cellos, but I’m still coming up empty.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I think I’m out of ideas.”

Clarke entered Raven’s apartment to find the two of them slumped over their computers in frustration. Raven’s place had become the centre of operations for the human side of the search, while Symposium remained as a headquarters of sorts for the demigods. Of course there was some overlap; Murphy was currently being a domestic god _(ha!)_ in the kitchen, trying to cheer them up by baking some cookies for them to snack on while they worked. “Mmm, smells like a bakery in here,” she commented, sitting down by Monty and Raven. “You can’t be this depressed in a bakery, what’s going on?”

“Another dead end.” Raven sighed. They had tried every angle they could think of to search for the lyre. First, they painstakingly sifted through archived news records dating back to 23 years ago, searching for anything that could be related to the lost lyre. That gave a couple of promising leads, but Bellamy investigated them and found nothing useful. Then they thought they might have better luck searching for a record of any effect of the lyre’s magic being used in the area – they theorised it might have affected the local animals – but even searching through social media feeds for anecdotes was fruitless. Their latest idea was to check music stores to see if they were currently, or had ever, sold an instrument that even _resembled_ a lyre, and still nothing came up. “Are we sure the lyre is here? It’s like there’s no trace of it ever being in Arkadia.” 

“If Hermes says it’s here then it’s here. He might be a self-righteous God with a hero complex, but he’s smart, and he’s rarely wrong about these kinds of things.” Murphy answered as he placed the cookies in front of them. “Don’t tell him I said that, I have a reputation to uphold.”

Monty grabbed a cookie and Clarke laughed as his face lit up in awe after his first bite. “Murphy… this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. Seriously. And I’ve eaten things while _high_.”

Murphy gave a knowing smile and did a mock bow to Monty, before turning to Clarke. “I like him, you should have told him about demigods earlier – I could do with the ego boost.” 

Raven snorted. “No, you couldn’t.”

He shot her a glare. “Clarke, you want one? Plenty more where that came from.”

She eyed the cookies hungrily, and her mouth watered at the smell. “I shouldn’t,” her willpower won out. “Chiron and Lincoln have been kicking my ass in training, I need to keep on top of my diet and exercise.”

“What? Octavia told me you were doing great – she said you nearly knocked Lincoln out the other day.” Raven countered. 

“Also I think you’re drastically underestimating how _good_ these are.” Monty managed, his cheeks bulging with food like a hamster.

“I’ve got to get to the clinic anyway, just wanted to check in with you guys before I left” Clarke opened her coat, revealing her scrubs underneath. “Keep working on it, I’ll see you later.”

- 

It was nice to get back to human life. Demigod drama had quieted down some, allowing her to spend more of her time training with Chiron and Lincoln. Aside from her sore muscles, which despite her best efforts she couldn’t seem to heal, she showed no outward signs of injury sustained from sparring. With practice on herself, Octavia, and her patients, Clarke had gotten pretty good at healing injuries. Chiron had her practicing her abilities and archery skills, while Lincoln taught her how to fight hand-to-hand. As promised, he had shown her how to kick, as well as a few escapes from simple holds. Octavia had started coming along to the training a little over a week ago, twice a day just like Clarke. She had taken to combat quickly much to Lincoln’s surprise, and she explained that “fighting’s just like dancing” so of course she’d be good at it. She was less skilled with a sword, but Chiron was a good teacher, and slowly but surely she was improving.

The clinic had been pretty slow, so she had time between patients to notice that at around midday, Miller had dashed in holding a brown paper bag. He left it at the front desk for Jackson, with a note that read: 

_Jackson,_

_~~I threw away your lunch this morning because it looked gross~~ _

_You forgot your lunch this morning so I made you this._

_Have a good day and I’ll see you later tonight,_

_Nate x_

Before she could interrogate him about how long that had been going on, one of the nurses found her. “Clarke, you got a minute? We have a walk-in, he asked for you by name.”

“Yeah, of course, send him to Consultation Room 2 and I’ll meet him there.” She took a minute to gather her equipment and the paperwork before entering the room, letting the door shut behind her.

“Hi, how can I help you, Mr…” Clarke trailed off as she looked at the man in front of her. He stood up as she entered, towering at maybe 6’3” with a muscular but lean build, and Clarke guessed he was in his mid-30s. His hair was blonde, and just long enough for a few strands to fall over his piercing blue eyes. There was an aura about him that took Clarke’s breath away; she couldn’t quite explain why, but something about him just felt _different_ … foreign, yet totally familiar. When Clarke was 16, Abby and Jake took her to Hawaii on vacation. The journey from Arkadia had been long and exhausting, arriving at their beachfront hotel after nightfall. The Griffins had collapsed into bed soon after, but the next morning when a jet-lagged Clarke woke up with the sun, she stepped outside and walked mere feet until she hit sand, the sun filtering through palm trees and warming her from the outside in. The beach was quiet but alive, the waves rhythmically beating the shoreline, and as Clarke curled her toes in the warm sand she felt so far from home, but completely at peace. Being in his presence reminded her of that feeling. He looked dazzled, and Clarke was sure she looked just as stunned. _Could it be?_  

“Clarke Griffin,” his voice was soft but strong. “You look so much like your mother… except for your hair of course, you get that from me.”

The papers slipped out of her grip and tumbled to the ground.

“You must know that if I knew you existed, I would have found you – taught you all about us and helped you prepare for your abilities. Though I understand Chiron has been watching over you; I owe him a great deal of gratitude. From what I’ve seen so far, you’ve become a fine young woman, and immensely talented in the art of medicine. I’m so proud of you.”

“You’re… you’re my…” She stammered, suddenly feeling very lightheaded. This was not how she pictured meeting her birth father.

He snapped out of his dazed state. “I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself. I’m Apollo, but I think you know that by now. Clarke, please sit. I would very much like to talk to you.” She did as he asked, still too shocked to speak. “When I heard the rumours that I had a child on Earth, at first I didn’t believe it. I didn’t think any humans I had met with over the centuries would keep something like that from me, so I rejected the idea. But the oracles were insistent, so I did some research. Abby was the last human I had contact with, so it made sense to start there. To my surprise, the Abigail I knew seemed to have disappeared without a trace soon after I returned to Olympus. I had to use the oracles for guidance and discovered she had married and lived under a pseudonym – Griffin – since before you were born. I want you to know that I’m not angry with you Clarke, you had no way of knowing any of this. I know I haven’t been here to help you, so I wanted to give you this.” 

Apollo handed Clarke a golden bangle, in the design of a snake that coils several times around the wrist. “It’s not just jewellery – if you trace your finger around the length of the snake it will call me from Mount Olympus, so whenever you need me I can be there.” 

Clarke slipped it on to her wrist and couldn’t help but admire it. It was gorgeous; so intricately detailed – every scale seemed to glimmer as it caught the light. She thought about how well it would complement her dagger and her bow; and how it almost seemed like a matching set.

“This is beautiful,” she breathed.

“I had it made just for you. It’s the only one of its kind in existence.” He smiled, before his expression faltered. “Clarke, I want to help you. With everything that’s going on with the lyre, I know it’s dangerous for you. If you’d let me, I’d like to offer my assistance in the search.”

Clarke perked up, meeting his eyes. She scanned his face for any sign of an ulterior motive – his features were soft and concerned; his eyes kind. Kane seemed to trust him, and from what she had gathered over the past few weeks of research, Apollo was generally a respected and well-liked God. Unlike most other Gods, he didn’t have many relationships with humans, so it made sense that he would go to these lengths to protect one of his children. “Okay. We’re meeting tonight to have a strategy session at a bar nearby, it’s called Symposium. If you want to help, you can meet us there at 6. For now, I have to get back to my patients. It was really good to meet you…” She wrestled with how to address him. “Apollo.”

He started towards her, as if to give her a hug, but he hesitated. “It was a pleasure to meet you too, Clarke. I hope you will give me the chance to make up for all those lost years.” A sad smile settled into his features, and he cast a long look at her before leaving the room. Clarke let out a breath, tension releasing from her body. Her hands shook as she picked up the papers scattered across the floor, and she felt herself welling up with emotion. She took a moment to gather herself and steady her breathing, before walking out of the room with a smile on her face. “Next patient?”

-

Clarke was bouncing her leg incessantly, and it was driving Bellamy insane. “Clarke, do you mind?”

“Hmm?” She tore her gaze away from the clock – _5:55pm_ – to face him. “Oh, sorry.” She steadied her leg, wringing her hands together. Clarke, Bellamy, Raven and Monty were at Symposium, waiting for the others to arrive. The bar was closed today, giving them freedom to take as much time with the meeting as they needed.

“Okay,” Bellamy sighed, placing a hand over both of hers. “What are you so worried about? Your mom and Kane will be here soon.”

“It’s not that.” She met his eyes and sighed. “I guess you’re about to find out anyway. Apollo found me.”

Raven and Monty gasped, while Bellamy’s grip on her tightened a little. “How?” he stepped back from her, pacing. “I thought we had you hidden, there must be some sort of information leak. I’ll call Kane, we need to-”

“No, it’s okay, I trust him. He found me through his oracle.” Clarke placated him. “He wants to help us find the lyre.”

Clarke recounted the events from the clinic earlier today, showing them the bangle he had given her. She had just about finished her story when the clock struck 6, and right on cue, the front door opened. Everyone stood up at the noise.

“Clarke?” Apollo’s voice filled the room as he searched for her. When he met her eyes, he beamed. “Thank you for inviting me, I’m excited to meet your friends. Is this everyone?”

As he approached, Bellamy put a hand out in front of Clarke, placing a barrier between them. “You’re Apollo?” His lips were tight, his eyes narrow. Untrusting.

If Apollo was taken aback by Bellamy’s actions, he didn’t show it. “You must be Bellamy Blake. I must say I’m impressed with you; Ares is difficult to hide from. You’ve become something of a celebrity among us Gods. If you’d allow me, I’d like to talk to my daughter?”

His tone was measured, _polite_ even, but Clarke noticed him sizing Bellamy up. Clarke placed a hand on Bellamy’s outstretched arm, lowering it down. “It’s okay, Bellamy, he’s on our side.” Bellamy swallowed hard, but relented, standing back with the others.

“Apollo, this is Bellamy Blake, Son of Ares, and our human friends Raven Reyes and Monty Green. Everyone, this is Apollo, God of the Sun, knowledge, healing, music, poetry, and… well, pretty much everything. He’s my birth father.” The words tasted foreign on her tongue. 

Apollo shook hands with everyone, though he squeezed Bellamy’s a little tighter. “Raven, Monty, you must be the ones tracking the lyre. I think I may be able to help with that.”

Clarke gestured for everyone to sit down. “Apollo, do you remember the last time you came to Earth? Can you walk us through that day?”

He gave her a wistful smile. “As clearly as if it was yesterday. Hermes had invited me to visit him – I love human cities, and I was curious to see how he was living among mortals. He took me on a tour of Arkadia, seeing where he worked, the university, where he lived… and then he invited me for food at one of the local restaurants. While we ate, Abby entered and recognised Hermes as a friend. I was shocked that a human knew who he was, and Hermes explained that when he was first adjusting to life on Earth, he didn’t quite understand modern human ways of living, and the rules of society. In his first week, he stepped onto the road without checking for oncoming traffic and was knocked down by a car. He insisted he was fine, of course, but passing humans took him to hospital anyway. There, Abby was his doctor and questioned how after a significant trauma, Marcus Kane, an ordinary man, was able to walk away without any injuries. Hermes knew she wouldn’t let the subject drop, so he came clean. She took him under her wing in a way; taught him much of what he knows now about human life.”

Clarke looked surprised; Abby hadn’t told her this.

“Abby and I became fast friends. Hermes eventually retired to his home, and Abby and I spent most of the day together after that.” Apollo’s gaze darted to Clarke apologetically, and thankfully he glossed over the details. “I know I had the lyre with me when I left Abby, but I wanted to do one more thing before I returned to Olympus. I went to the beach to watch the sunset – despite being the God of the Sun I don’t get to see it often, the view from Olympus is quite different. No one else was there, it was quite an isolated area, tucked away from view. Humans really do take sunsets for granted, the colours were the most beautiful I had ever seen, and it cast such a golden light on everything it touched before it slipped under the horizon. I was so transfixed that I forgot the time, and realised I had to be back home soon. In my hurry to leave, I must have dropped the lyre. I only realised my error when I reached the forest containing the entrance to Olympus, but it was too late to turn back – I had left without Zeus’ permission and needed to return before he realised I left. I hope that helps you.”

“That’s really helpful, thank you.” Clarke said, placing a hand on top of Apollo’s. She surprised herself at the touch, and found herself thinking how odd it was to suddenly be so close to her father after decades of not knowing of his existence. Meanwhile, the wheels were already spinning in Raven and Monty’s heads.

“Bellamy, you should go to the beach and retrace Apollo’s path to the forest and see if you can find it there.” Raven said.

He shook his head. “I need to stay with Octavia. I’ll send Murphy and Miller.”

“While they do that, let’s work on the theory Apollo dropped the lyre in the ocean. Raven, if you can dig up old weather records and find out the conditions at sea that day, I can create an algorithm to figure out where it ended up. Sound good?” Monty said, and everyone nodded. “Apollo, I’ll need to know the dimensions of your lyre, as well as its weight and what material it’s made from.”

Raven, Monty and Apollo launched into discussion about the lyre, while Bellamy motioned for Clarke to talk with him privately. “Are you sure we can trust him?” He asked once they were out of earshot.

“Yes. I don’t know how I know; I just feel it. The same way I feel it with you.”

“Father?” An unfamiliar voice sounded through the bar. A man was at the door – tall and lean, with brown hair and blue eyes. Bellamy stepped in front of Clarke once again, but Apollo waved him down.

“Clarke, I’m sorry for springing this on you but he was very anxious to meet you. This is Asclepius, my son – and your brother.” Apollo explained.

“Clarke, it’s so good to finally meet you.” Asclepius said, rushing to greet her. “Is that what I think it is?” He pointed to her necklace.

She blushed in embarrassment. “Yeah, my mom bought it for me a few years ago.”

“Do you want to see the real thing?” When Clarke nodded, he took a silver ballpoint pen out of his pocket. He clicked the top, and the pen transformed, thickening and elongating itself to reach the floor, and a section of it branched off from the main stem, curling around it like a snake. Once it settled, Clarke realised the Rod of Asclepius looked exactly like the one around her neck.

Before she could comment, Marcus and Abby appeared in the room, causing everyone but Apollo and Asclepius to jump.

“Sorry I’m late, I got stuck in surgery, so I asked Marcus to… oh my Gods,” Abby started, trailing off when she saw who Raven and Monty were talking to. “Apollo? You look… you look exactly the same as the day I met you.”

They both remained in stunned silence after that for a while; clearly neither was expecting the other to be there. Clarke watched as Apollo’s expression flitted from shock to happiness to hurt. “You kept her from me. How could you do that, Abby?”

“I – I was just trying to keep her safe.” Abby stammered.

Asclepius drew his attention to her. “You hid my sister from us her whole life, and now that the lyre’s missing she’s in danger. What were you thinking?” While Apollo sounded upset, Asclepius was enraged. He stormed towards Abby, eyes burning – he looked dangerous. Kane stepped between them as Apollo shouted.

“What are you doing, Asclepius? Back away, now!”

He ignored his father’s orders, coming nose to nose with Kane. “Get out of my way, Hermes.” He fumed.

“Not a chance. You’ve got three seconds to calm down.” He stared him down, but Asclepius was unmoved. Abby backed away slowly, sensing this wouldn’t end well. “Three… two… one.” Kane clamped a hand on his shoulder and they disappeared.

For a brief moment, the rest of the group were left in silence, exchanging worried glances. Then, as abruptly as they left, Kane reappeared. “I dropped him back off at Olympus, I’m sure Zeus will keep an eye on him now. Abby, are you alright?” He walked over to her, embracing her.

“I’m fine. Thank you, Marcus.” They broke apart. “Apollo, I really am sorry, but it’s what was best for Clarke.”

Apollo shook his head. “If anything, I’m the one who should apologise. I had no idea Asclepius would react like that, I’m so sorry about his behaviour.”

“It’s not your fault. Besides, no harm done.” Abby replied, giving Apollo’s hand a squeeze.

Clarke let out a breath, relieved that the situation seemed to be resolved. “Family drama gets a lot more complicated when Gods are involved, doesn’t it?” Bellamy joked, causing her to exhale a laugh. She wrapped an arm around his side and leaned into him.

As Abby and Apollo hugged, Clarke heard a sickening thunk and a grunt of pain. Her eyes darted to Marcus and she screamed – he had been speared through the chest. Abby and Clarke ran to his side as he collapsed to the floor, while Raven and Monty ducked under a table and Apollo and Bellamy scanned the room for the attacker.

Marcus was still breathing; jagged and uneven, but looking at the wound, Abby and Clarke knew that his heart must have been damaged. The pool of blood around him grew larger, and Abby applied pressure to his chest, streaming with tears. “You’re gonna be okay. You’re okay.” Clarke thought Abby was more likely trying to calm herself down than Marcus – you didn’t need medical training to know that he was gravely injured.

Clarke stayed kneeling by Marcus’ side, holding his hand and desperately trying to recall her training with Chiron – she had never healed a God before, and certainly never a wound this severe. She frantically muttered her intentions as if to amplify her power, her eyes focused on the ever-expanding pool of blood on the floor. She wasn’t sure if it was just a trick of the light, but she could have sworn the flow was slowing down. Clarke prayed it was her powers at work, because she refused to consider the alternative – _that he was running out of blood_.

She tried to ignore Abby’s fearful yet hopeful eyes burning into the side of her head, instead looking at Marcus’ face. He took a deep breath in, and mumbled something.

“What? Marcus, what did you say?” Abby asked, her voice shaking. They were vaguely aware of the sound of the back door opening, but the Griffin women remained laser-focused on Kane.

He said it again, louder this time. “ _Ares._ ”

Abby and Clarke looked up, following Marcus’ line of sight. There stood a man even larger than Apollo, bulky and muscular, panting hotly. Sweat dripped down from his thick black curls, threatening to fall into his dark eyes. He smirked, highlighting the long scar slashed on his cheek. “You think you can hide my son from me and walk away without a scratch? Oh, Hermes. I thought you were smarter than that.”

Marcus struggled to respond, spluttering out a bloody cough that triggered rapid and uneven breaths, before he stilled. Abby cupped his face, choking back a sob. “Marcus, you need to wake up.” She sniffed. “Please, wake up.” 

Clarke put a hand on her shoulder, her eyes filling with tears. “Mom… it’s not working, I can’t… I can’t fix him.” Her voice trembled.

“No! No, he’s going to be okay, he’s–” Abby was cut off as Marcus vanished into thin air, the black spear clattering on the ground in his place. Abby froze for a moment, before letting out a strangled scream. Clarke held her mother tightly, and felt her body shake as she sobbed into her shoulder. She felt as if a hand had gripped her heart from the inside and plunged it down to her stomach; she thought she might be sick, and she didn’t dare imagine how Abby must have felt. They had both seen death before, but not like this; not someone you love dying so suddenly right in front of you, only for their body to be taken from you before you have a moment to breathe, let alone start to grieve. Abby had already lost one man she loved, Clarke had already lost one father figure, and now it was happening all over again.

The others watched the exchange in horror, unsure whether to run to comfort Clarke and Abby or to keep their eyes firmly on Ares. Raven and Monty stifled a sob from under the table, clamping their hands over their mouths so as not to draw his attention lest they be next.

“Bellamy. It’s been a long time, come and say hello to your father.” Ares seethed, stalking towards him.

Apollo ran to Bellamy’s side. “Don’t even think about it, Ares. Have you forgotten what happened at the first Olympic Games? Unless you want a rematch, that is.” He drew his bow out from nowhere, aiming it at him. Seeing this exchange, Clarke scrambled for her bow too, nocking an arrow and targeting his head. She managed to bury her grief under this new rage she felt – an ugly emotion she had never found much use for in the past, but now she realised why we feel it. Why we need it. It gave her focus, strength, and though she knew nothing she could do to Ares would bring Marcus back, she could be damn sure he suffered for what he did.

Ares stopped and eyed her in surprise. “You must be Clarke Griffin. I see why you kept her hidden away Apollo, beautiful and dangerous.” His eyes flitted between the two weapons aimed at him. “We’ll meet again, Clarke. And Bellamy – this isn’t over.”

Ares had attacked Kane like a coward – throwing a spear from a hidden position by the back door. It should have been no surprise that once he was outgunned, he retreated like a coward too. Once they were sure he was gone, Clarke dropped her bow to the ground and ran back to Abby, who was still on her knees, but no longer crying. Instead, her face was hardened as she locked eyes with Clarke. “If Ares wants a fight, he’s got it. We have to kill the God of War.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY
> 
> \---
> 
>  
> 
> it had to be done. this chapter took me so long to write, and I'm still not totally happy with it but I didn't want to keep you waiting too long, especially because college is getting intense. it might feel like the pace is picking up, and that's because we're nearing the end of the book! I'd like to have things wrapped up in the next few chapters, so keep an eye out for updates.
> 
> until next time, thanks for reading x


	9. Gospel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gospel: an Old English translation of the Greek εὐαγγέλιον, meaning "good news". Often used in reference to God or religion.

Five days later, everyone was still shell-shocked. Losing Marcus had been hard on them all, especially Abby. Clarke hadn’t been able to coax her out of Marcus’ apartment yet, where she was still half moved-in. She opened the door with her spare key to find her mother sitting cross legged on the floor of the living room, clutching one of his sweaters, breathing in his scent as if she may never get the chance again. The cardboard boxes scattered next to her were labelled ‘Kitchen’ and ‘Bedroom’, and the sight of it hit Clarke like a punch to the gut. Abby had been so excited to move in with him; she was finally happy again after everything she went through with Jake, and now they had come full circle. So much wasted potential. “Mom?” she asked tentatively. “How are you doing?”

No response. Clarke glanced around the room as she stepped inside, shaking the rain off her jacket. Her eyes landed on a traybake of some kind on the table, wrapped in clingfilm with a note attached. The food was untouched. Clarke inspected the note and saw it was from Jackson and Nate, offering their condolences. They must have cooked her a casserole or something. _Isn’t that what people do when someone dies?_ Clarke thought. _Bake a casserole?_ The practice had seemed strange to her before Jake died, but then she understood. You forget how to function at a time like this, when you’re overwhelmed by grief but suddenly have to spin so many plates that it all just comes crashing down and you’re overwhelmed by the simplest task. Feeding yourself becomes the least of your worries, not that you have much of an appetite left anyway.

She supposed in some ways it was a good thing that they didn’t have a body; it meant that a funeral was one less thing to worry about considering Marcus was only officially a missing person, not dead. But that also meant they got no closure, and that Abby’s bosses weren’t quite as forgiving of her missing work. “You’re not eating. You need to eat something.” Clarke felt like a hypocrite; she hadn’t been eating much either despite Murphy’s food offerings, but it pained her to see her mother look so gaunt after just a few days. She might as well have been talking to a brick wall. “Jackson’s been covering for you at the hospital, but I don’t think he can keep it up much longer without raising some eyebrows. People are going to ask questions we can’t answer.”

“I feel like a child.”

“What?” This was the first time Clarke had heard a full sentence from her mother in days.

“Everyone’s treating me like a child. Telling me what’s happening as if I don’t already know.” Clarke couldn’t help but compare her to a little girl sitting on the floor holding her favourite teddy bear. “You’ve all been walking on eggshells around me, and you treat me as if a strong breeze will shatter me to pieces. Maybe if people stopped looking at me like I was already broken, then I wouldn’t break so easily.” Abby’s words were tough, but her voice quavered as she spoke, redness in her eyes.

“Mom, I… I’m…” Clarke struggled to find the words. This was the most she’d gotten out of her mother since that day at Symposium.

Abby gestured to their surroundings, a modern 2-floor penthouse apartment in a luxury high-rise in the city centre. The views of Arkadia were breath-taking, and the living room boasted floor-to-ceiling windows to exaggerate the view of the hustle and bustle of the city. In the distance the coastline was visible, with what Clarke knew would be gorgeous views of the sun setting over the lapping waves of the ocean. “I sold my apartment weeks ago. I’ve been living here but I can’t afford it on my own; Marcus makes – _made_ – more money than I do and I’m barely treading water with the costs here. I keep thinking that the only way I can stay afloat is to sell this place too but I can’t – I _can’t_ –” Her voice broke and she choked back a sob, taking a shaky breath to steady herself before she continued. “I can’t do it. This is supposed to be _our_ place, and if it’s gone then it feels like I’m giving up on him; that I’m admitting that he’s not coming back. If I sell the apartment then that makes it real.”

Clarke’s own eyes were watering now. She sat down next to her mother, wrapping her arms around her. “I’m so sorry Mom. But it’s already real.”

 

-

 

“Still no word from Apollo?” Raven asked. Clarke had gone straight to her friend’s place after visiting Abby, under the pretence of checking up on the algorithm, but the more Clarke thought about it she realised she just didn’t want to be alone. 

“Not since he walked back to the entrance to Olympus with Miller and Murphy.” The three of them had retraced his steps three days ago, making the hike through the forest. Apollo had reluctantly left them there – he had already overstayed his allotted time on Earth and Zeus was getting twitchy. They hadn’t found any trace of the lyre, so Raven and Monty’s algorithm was their last hope. “How long until you get the algorithm working?”

Raven let out a breath, rubbing her temple. “Technically it’s already _working_ , just not very efficiently. Monty and I have been trying to optimise it, but without Apollo here to answer some of our questions about that night it’s taking a little longer. Right now it’s compiling all the weather data from the day he dropped the lyre, cross-checking the wind speed, tide, sea temperature, and the strength of the currents against what we know about the density of the lyre to calculate co-ordinates of where it might have ended up. It’s slower than I’d like. If it was just one day and one patch of water to calculate it would be simple, but we need to consider the possibility that the lyre was washed away into a bigger ocean or that it’s been floating around for 23 years already, and that’s a whole lot of data to sift through.” She admitted; and scrunched up her face in thought. “At this pace – maybe a few days?”

Clarke nodded in understanding as her phone buzzed. 

_Octavia: In an extra training session with Lincoln – wanna come blow off some steam?_

She huffed out a breath. With everything piling up on her, from Marcus to the lyre to hunting for Ares to not being sure where she stood with Bellamy, Clarke hadn’t realised how pent-up she felt until that moment.

 _Clarke: Sounds perfect. See you at the gym in 15._  

 

-

 

By the time Clarke arrived at the Gymnasium, Lincoln was already coaching Octavia. She heard their voices as she approached.

“That’s good. Remember your strength is in the element of surprise. They’ll be expecting Clarke to fight back because she’s a demigod, and she’s already raised a bow at Ares, so they know she won’t be afraid to get her hands dirty. We’re counting on them not expecting much from a human. Use that to your advantage. Let them get complacent and sloppy with you, then when you spot an opening you can hand their asses to them.” 

Octavia laughed merrily. “You’re damn right I will.” She high-fived him, and Lincoln broke out into a laugh too. This threw Clarke off for a moment; usually Lincoln was all business in training sessions, but Octavia’s laugh was pretty infectious so she brushed off the thought. 

“Hey,” Clarke greeted, jogging to meet them. “What’s on the agenda today?” 

Lincoln pulled her in to a bro-style handshake with a side-hug, which startled her but she returned it. “Chokeholds.” From their position, he wrapped his right arm around her neck and pressed her back against his chest. “How do you get out of this?”

Clarke frantically pulled on his arm, trying to claw it off her neck to no avail; he was too strong. She changed tactics, using her legs to blindly kick backwards at him, hoping it would land somewhere that would hurt. Lincoln tutted and walked backwards with her, essentially taking her legs out of the equation. “Think about where your strengths are. My arms are stronger than yours and you need your legs to stay upright or else you’ll be knocked off balance. What can you do?” He stopped moving, giving her a chance to think.

Clarke’s eyes flitted to Octavia, who gave her an encouraging nod.  _You can do this._

She called back to Lincoln’s words in previous training sessions. _“When the odds are stacked against you, don’t gamble. Outsmart them; change the state of play. Your arms will be weaker than theirs – not because you’re a girl but because they’re bigger, they’ve been training longer, and they’re children of Ares. But remember it doesn’t have to be arm-versus-arm. Use the rest of your body too.”_

She stepped forward with her left foot, giving herself a wider base, and swung her right leg behind her and way out to the left, bending at the waist as she moved her body to follow the path of her leg. His grip on her neck released: her body weight was stronger than his arms. From there, she gripped his chest from the side and shoved him away with as much force as she could gather and backed up a few steps, settling in to her fighting stance. 

“Good work, Griffin, I’m impressed.” Lincoln beamed, rubbing his chest on the side she pushed him. “Nice use of your bodyweight. Once you slipped your shoulder out, the choke fell apart; I didn’t have any leverage. Even demigods are subject to the laws of physics, so if you’ve got good technique then sheer strength won’t be enough to stop you.”

Octavia offered her fist to Clarke, who bumped it with her own. “You’re almost as good as me,” she teased, causing them both to laugh.

“Okay, let’s do something a little different. Clarke, I want you to fight Octavia as if you were one of Ares’ soldiers.” Lincoln explained. “It’ll be good practice for you to get inside their heads, and good for Octavia to fight someone a little closer to her size.”

The girls shared a look – raised eyebrows and bottom lip jutting out – _why not?_

“Great,” Lincoln clapped his hands together. “Let’s start with Octavia with her back against the wall.” As Octavia got into position, he talked to Clarke. “How do you think a child of Ares would approach this?”

Clarke considered that for a moment. “She’s human, so I don’t think they’d feel the need to use a weapon – they’d use their hands.” Lincoln nodded in encouragement, gesturing for her to continue. “They’re cocky, so they’d assume they can control her with just one.” 

“Good. Start, I’ll talk you both through it.”

Clarke raised her left hand against Octavia’s neck, pressing her against the wall into a simple choke. “Jesus Clarke, you’re stronger than you look,” Octavia gasped, and Clarke loosened her grip.

“Sorry!” She forgot she wasn’t fighting a demigod like Lincoln.

“Octavia, what’s your instinct?” Lincoln asked.

“She’s too far away for me to kick her, so I need to push her arm away.” Octavia replied.

“Try it.” Lincoln’s tone didn’t betray anything about how he felt this idea would go. He watched as Octavia struggled, using both her hands to try to push straight out against Clarke’s, but it wasn’t budging. Octavia dropped her hands, sighing in frustration. “Clarke’s in a good position to lean in and use all her body weight to push in against you. Even with two hands, you can’t gather enough leverage to push her off that way. Think – where’s the weakness?” 

Octavia studied Clarke’s arm. “I could hit her arm from the side.”

“Yes!” Lincoln encouraged. “Be sure to hit on the weaker side – push her arm away to your right, Octavia. That way you’re just fighting against Clarke’s thumb, not four of her fingers.”

Using her left arm, Octavia hit Clarke’s arm hard, pivoting her foot to throw her whole body into the strike. Clarke’s hand fell away from her neck, hitting the wall, and Clarke stumbled forwards to catch her balance. 

“Freeze right there!” Lincoln shouted, and the girls stopped. Octavia was free from the choke, her body still turned to her side, facing Clarke, who was leaning against the wall with her left hand. Octavia was still clasping Clarke’s arm from when she hit it. “Octavia, you’ve just lost your element of surprise. Now the child of Ares knows you can fight, you need to neutralise the threat before it escalates beyond a level you can handle. What can you do from here?” 

“If I switch my grip, I think I can wrap my other arm around her neck.” Octavia replied. “With a good hold I can choke her out.”

Lincoln flashed a grin. “You’re a quick learner. Clarke, you okay with that?”

“Yeah,” she answered, giving a thumbs up with her free hand.

“Okay, let’s do this,” Octavia said, pulling Clarke’s arm even closer to the wall. This dragged Clarke’s head right up against Octavia’s left shoulder, and when it made contact she wrapped her arm around Clarke’s neck, locking it in tight and squeezing with all her might until Clarke tapped out.

Octavia released, and Clarke stepped back coughing and rubbing her neck. “Now who’s stronger than they look?” Octavia laughed at her words. “You’ve been practicing.”

“Yeah, Lincoln’s an amazing teacher. He’s been helping me out a little extra in his spare time.” She walked over to his side and squeezed his hand, and Clarke watched as Lincoln planted a quick kiss to her forehead. “Please don’t tell Bellamy, he’s got enough on his mind as it is, I don’t want him to go all ‘big brother’ on Lincoln.”

Lincoln snorted. “I could take him.” That earned a playful slap on the arm from Octavia.

“Don’t worry, my lips are sealed.” Clarke smiled.

The trio continued sparring for about another hour before Octavia called time, tiring quickly. “Can’t keep up with the demigods forever,” she panted between breaths.

“Ah, you’re playing the human card? We need to work on your stamina.” Lincoln teased.

Clarke wiped the sweat from her forehead. “I’m pretty wiped too, probably best to stop for now. Thanks, guys.”

Lincoln nodded, giving each of the girls a genuine hug as a goodbye. “I’m really proud of you both, you’ve made so much progress. Hell, you could probable give _me_ a run for my money.”

Clarke was touched. While Lincoln was never critical unless it was constructive, his compliments never normally went further than saying their technique was correct. This was high praise. Octavia beamed. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a big softie?” she placed a quick kiss on his cheek. “Come on Clarke, let’s go before he starts weaving us friendship bracelets.” She took Clarke’s hand and led her out the door. “See you the same time tomorrow, Lincoln!” Octavia called behind her, flashing him a toothy grin. This was going to be interesting.

 

-

 

Clarke stepped out of the bath, her muscles feeling much more relaxed after their time soaking in the hot, bubbly water. She had planned to spend the rest of the evening reading in her apartment, and she would have, if not for the 15 missed calls from Abby she saw when she got back to her room.

She frantically secured her towel around her and dried her hands. Just as she picked up her phone, another call from her mother came through and she answered instantly.

“Mom? Are you okay? What’s going on?” 

All she could hear on the other line was her mother crying hysterically, and her heart dropped, picturing a million awful scenarios in her head. “Mom, please tell me what’s happening. Are you hurt?” 

“Marcus,” She managed. “Marcus is back!” Abby’s tears were of joy, not sadness.

A weight lifted from Clarke’s chest now that she knew her mother was safe, but she was confused. “Mom, Marcus is gone, what are you talking about?”

“I know, I know, he was, but he’s – he’s…” There was a rustle on the Abby’s side of the line before a new voice spoke.

“Clarke?”

Clarke stopped breathing for a moment. She knew that voice. Unequivocally familiar but utterly impossible. “Marcus?”

“It’s good to hear your voice. I’m sorry it’s been so long.” He replied. Clarke still thought she might be hearing things.

“This isn’t… this can’t be real… Marcus, you _died_ right in front of us.”

“Not quite. While it’s true that an Ares-made weapon has the power to cripple a God, we can never truly die the same way humans do. Before I felt my powers fade, I transported myself to Olympus. Our wounds heal differently there, and when Apollo returned, he helped speed up my recovery. But it came at a price.”

A pit formed in Clarke’s stomach. “What price?”

Marcus sighed. “Zeus wasn’t pleased that I had kept secrets from him all this time. Obviously when he found out what happened to me, he learned of everything else I hadn’t told him about you, about the lyre, even about Bellamy. But he also knows that Ares is the real problem here. As a penalty for my part in recent events, Zeus has decided to confiscate my powers for the remainder of my mortal life. However he has offered his full support to us in our fight to find the lyre before Ares does.”

Clarke replayed his words in her head. If Hermes no longer had his powers, he remained as Marcus Kane, the businessman. But there was something about what he said that bothered her, and she wasn’t sure if her mind was playing tricks because of the shock of the phone call, or if it was really true… “Marcus, what did you mean when you said ‘the remainder of your _mortal_ life?’”

“Ah. I thought you might pick up on that. Clarke, one of my powers is immortality, and I no longer have my powers. If I had my abilities I would have come to talk to you in person.” He explained. 

Clarke let out a gasp. “Oh my Gods, Marcus, I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t be sorry,” He reassured her with a light chuckle. “I’m not. I’ve lived for thousands of years as Hermes, and now I get to be Marcus Kane, a real man with a real life. As soon as I got back to Earth, I knew I had to find Abby because I want to spend the rest of my life with her. So, when I found her, I asked if she would be happy to spend the rest of her life with me too. I thought we shouldn’t waste any more time; life is short.” 

Abby’s voice reappeared in the background, shouting to the phone from a distance. “I said yes!”

Clarke let out a surprised, happy laugh, the smile spreading through her features like a flower bursting into full bloom. “You’re getting married?”

“Yes, as soon as we can get everything planned.” He replied, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

Abby must have taken the phone from his hands, as her voice filled Clarke’s ears clearer than before. “Clarke, honey, will you be my maid of honour?”

Clarke shed a tear. “Of course! Mom, I’m so happy for you both.”

 

-

 

Lately whenever Clarke got good news, the first person she wanted to tell was Bellamy. When her call with Abby and Marcus ended, the first thought to cross her mind was that she couldn’t wait to tell him. But with everything that had been going on, she felt a little hesitant. They hadn’t talked about the kiss since it happened, and Clarke was worried that because they’d been drinking, maybe Bellamy thought it meant nothing. It certainly didn’t mean nothing to her. She found her fingers tracing her lips, thinking back to that night with a grin. They had gotten so caught up in the moment that the whole place nearly went up in flames. As usual though, the search for the lyre got in the way – some new problem would pop up before they got the chance to talk about it. There was a part of her that thought back to all of the little things Bellamy has done, from the day he admitted he cared about her to when he stepped between her and Apollo or Asclepius. Deep down, she thought that maybe, _just maybe_ , he wanted her just as badly as she craved him. But if that was true, why hadn’t he said something? He was an itch she couldn’t scratch, a desert mirage just constantly out of reach, and she couldn’t deny the pull she felt whenever she was around him. They always seemed to drift together if they were in the same room like two streams converging into a river. And for the first time in too long there was finally a glimmer of hope in her life – something to be truly happy about, and she’d be damned if she didn’t share it with Bellamy before their luck turned again, regardless of their personal life. She decided to take matters into her own hands and took a peek at the time – _4:30_. Perfect, Bellamy would be at his apartment before Symposium opened. Throwing on her clothes, she rushed out of the door with a purpose. 

She was familiar enough with the bar now to know where Bellamy’s doorbell was. Hidden away on the wall near the front door to Symposium was a small panel with a speaker and camera for Bellamy to buzz people in. Pushing the button, she waited impatiently for his voice to come through.

A crackle from the speaker. “Clarke? Is there a meeting I don’t know about?”

She twitched a little at the implication she’d only be here to work on the lyre. “Buzz me in, I’ll explain upstairs.”

The tell-tale electronic hum of the door unlocking quickly followed, and she was surprised to find Bellamy standing outside his apartment at the top of the stairs waiting for her. “Is there something going on?”

“Have you heard?” Clarke asked, trying not to sound like running up the flight of stairs had winded her. She wasn’t sure if Lincoln would be disappointed in her or just find that funny.

He shook his head, stepping back into his apartment and gesturing for her to come inside. She followed. As the door closed behind her, she paced. How would she begin to explain what happened to Marcus? 

“Clarke, you’re kind of freaking me out. What’s this about?” 

“Marcus is alive.” _Huh. Way to ease him into it, Clarke._

Bellamy froze, his hands resting on the back of the couch, eyes staring down. She heard the leather squeak as his grip tightened. “That’s not funny.” His tone stung. “If Hermes was alive, he would’ve come here and told me himself. Don’t joke about that.” 

Clarke bit her lip, refusing to match his tone – this was _good_ news; no need to turn it into an argument. “I don’t think he goes by Hermes now. That’s why he can’t drop himself into your apartment unannounced anymore.” 

Bellamy lifted his head to meet her eyes, the questions failing to form on his lips. Instead, Clarke told him everything she knew. She told him about the phone call from her mom. About how at first, she didn’t believe it either, but then she heard his voice. She told him the bad news – that Marcus had lost his powers and become mortal – and the good news: that there was a wedding on the horizon. 

Any irritation Bellamy had felt at her initial statement faded quickly into shock, and then happiness as he saw how genuine Clarke was. In her haste to tell the story, she still hadn’t taken off her coat. “Here, let me take that. Sit down, I’ll pop open some champagne and we can celebrate.”

Clarke flushed a little as his fingers grazed her skin when he took off her trench coat, and she took a seat on one of the stools by the kitchen island. Bellamy followed moments after, grabbing two glasses and a corkscrew before hesitating, and shooting her a playful look. “You got your knife on you?”

Furrowing her brow, she reached for her thigh strap and felt the familiar outline of her dagger. “Yeah, why?”

He grinned and put down the corkscrew, motioning for her to pass him the knife. Warily, she placed it in his open palm. He set down the flutes and chose a bottle of champagne from the black-painted wooden racks behind him, and Clarke put the pieces together. “Bellamy, be careful – don’t cut yourself!”

He threw her a dismissive glance. “I’ll be fine,” he said as he positioned the blade by the cork in the bottle, readying himself to strike. “Besides, I’ve got you to patch me up.” Before Clarke could protest, he brought back the knife then pushed out hard, catching the cork in the blade and separating it from the bottle with a satisfying pop.

With a mischievous smile, he put down the knife and covered the opening of the bottle with his thumb, shaking it up and aiming it at Clarke.

“Oh my god!” She scrambled up to get out of her chair, but too late – Bellamy’s thumb had released, causing a stream of champagne foam to shoot out and hit her. She shrieked, shocked at the cold, and jumped back out of the reach of the spray. Bellamy laughed and put the bottle down, excess foam trailing down his arm as he poured into the glasses. Clarke tried to wipe off the wetness down her front, her black top now a few shades darker and the ends of her hair dripping. “You’re a child,” she scolded him.

“Couldn’t help it, you were right there. Come here, give me a hug.”

She smirked and did as he suggested, making sure to get him as wet as she could in the process.

“Argh, gross. The hug, not you.” he complained, then clarified as she shot him a frown.

“Truce?” she picked up the glasses, handing one to him. A peace offering.

He smiled, looking down at the drinks. “A toast to good news; Gods know we could do with more of that. Cheers.”

They clinked glasses, the musical tinkling like a church bell on Sunday morning. “Cheers,” she replied softly, catching his eyes as they sipped. The taste of alcohol hitting her tongue reminded her of the last time they drank together, and she studied him like her mother had done to her so many times; analysing every move, as if she could quantify emotion with a glance. He was relaxed, pushing a strand of hair back from his face as he rested his weight against the counter. If there was anything on his mind, he was doing a good job of hiding it. After what happened with Finn, Clarke needed to know where she stood, so it fell to her to say the unsaid. “Are we ever going to talk about what happened in the power cut?”

Bellamy froze. “What about it?”

“Don’t do that.” She put down the glass, crossing her arms and taking a step back. “You know what I’m talking about. We kissed like that, fell asleep together, woke up together, and then just… business as usual? I don’t buy it.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up. “Yeah that was some kiss, wasn’t it?” He phrased it more like a statement than a question. Clarke tapped her foot, waiting for a proper answer. With a sigh, he continued. “This is the furthest thing from business as usual, Clarke. Before you walked into my life it was simple – or as simple as it _can_ be when you’re hiding from a God – but I knew my priorities: stay under the radar and keep Octavia safe. I only had one person I cared about more than myself, but now?” They exchanged a long look, Clarke’s teeth just grazing her lip. “Now I’m not so sure.”

Clarke inhaled sharply, catching her breath on his words. Her mind raced with a million things she wanted to say, but instead found herself watching his expression falter. He doubled over, groaning in pain as he gripped his head in his hand. “Bellamy, what’s wrong, are you hurt?” She rushed to his side ready to heal him, but he waved her down with his other hand.

“Not me. Octavia. Something’s wrong, she’s in danger.” He rested his hands on his knees and lifted his chin to look at her. “We have to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the super late update! This chapter was actually meant to be even longer but it got away from me a little, so this is sort of a part 1, with the next chapter picking up right in the action. The story is almost over! Thank you so much for all of your comments, I read them all and it honestly makes me so happy to see that email from ao3 saying I've got a new one, it helps with my motivation so much. the last few chapters will probably be pretty spaced out due to exams coming up, hope you guys understand! Thanks for being so patient, and as always, thanks for reading x


	10. Soulmates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soulmates: "Man's original body having been cut in two, each half yearned for the half that had been severed. Love is simply the name for the desire and pursuit of the whole." – from Plato’s ‘The Symposium’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's super late!! Life has gotten in the way unfortunately, so sorry for keeping you on a cliffhanger but I hope this makes up for it! And oh my god - who saw the Beliza wedding coming? No one? Me neither but I'm still obsessed!!
> 
> Enjoy the chapter! (fair warning, it gets a bit smutty)

Too frantic to think of a plan, Clarke and Bellamy burst into her apartment, Clarke with her bow raised and a gold-tipped arrow ready to fly. Three men were in the living room, one with an arm wrapped around Octavia’s neck. All three heads flew to the door as they entered, and Clarke recognised the tallest.

This must have been his battle armour – a silver chest plate with the shape of ab muscles carved in on the front, and what looked like a flowing red cape on the back. “ _Ares,_ ” she seethed, as Bellamy started forwards to the man restraining Octavia. 

“Let her go!” His eyes were wild, the words spitting through his teeth as he clenched his fists.

Ares didn’t react; he almost appeared bored. “Dax, if Bellamy takes another step forward, snap Octavia’s neck.” The man holding Octavia tensed his arm muscles, cutting off Octavia’s air as she choked. Bellamy halted on the spot. “Weapon down, Clarke. Toss it on the ground.”

With a clench of her jaw, she examined her options. Dax looked about Clarke’s age, but he was strong. He could kill Octavia in the blink of an eye from their position, and Gods only know how skilled Ares is in combat. Sizing up the third man, she hesitated. He was older, wearing some sort of uniform; it looked like a cross between military fatigues and battle armour. Three gold metal stars decorated his shoulders, and she assumed he must have been a high-ranking member of Ares’ army of demigods. At a disadvantage, Clarke reluctantly threw her bow and arrows on the floor in the centre of the room.

“Shumway?” Ares said the name like an instruction, and the older man grabbed Clarke’s wrist, twisting it behind her back and pulling her into his grasp. “Oh, Bellamy, I’m so glad you came. Here I was thinking I’d just be handling Octavia and Clarke, when you fell right into my lap. I was going to take them on a little tour of our facilities – you remember the immersion chamber, don’t you?” 

Bellamy’s head snapped up to meet his eyes, and for the first time, Clarke saw a flicker of fear in them.

“But now you’re here too, this is quite the family reunion. Why don’t we just start the fun here?”

“Ares, they have nothing to do with this. This is between you and me.” Bellamy gesticulated, pleading. He winced, rubbing his temple, and Clarke could only assume his pain meant the danger just got even higher. 

The God of War stalked towards him, his movements slow and deliberate, savouring every step. “You and I are going to have a little chat. But first, I want you to watch.” He grabbed Bellamy by the back of his neck, shoving him towards the couch. “Sit.” He ordered, and Bellamy dragged his feet but obliged. Ares nodded at Dax, who suddenly whipped Octavia around and slammed her roughly into the wall. She cried out in pain, but her yelp was cut off again as he placed a hand round her neck. 

“Stop!” Bellamy shouted, moving to stand up but Ares yanked him back down.

“I told you to watch.”

Clarke caught eyes with Octavia, and she realised she was in the exact position they had practiced together with Lincoln earlier that day. Dax was young, probably inexperienced, and Octavia had the element of surprise. She shot her an almost imperceptible nod. _Now._  

Just as Octavia moved to strike, Clarke wriggled, testing out Shumway’s grip on her, but Shumway caught on. “Not so fast.” A voice like gravel filled her ears as she was spun around and hit with such force it knocked her onto her back. Lincoln was strong, a son of Athena, but either he was holding back on her or Shumway had some sort of heightened ability, because Clarke felt like she had been hit by a train. As she gasped for breath, she was vaguely aware of Bellamy and Ares grunting and wrestling with each other close by, and a cursory glance to Octavia showed Dax in a headlock. Shumway was back on her in an instant, and Clarke reflexively aimed a kick at his crotch. It landed hard, but Shumway didn’t flinch. “Sweetheart, I’m a son of Ares – and I have a unique gift. I don’t feel pain like the rest of you.” 

Clarke scrambled to get up, but he knocked her back down, climbing on top of her and wrapping both hands around her neck. He squeezed tight, and Clarke tried to move her legs. No use, he was sitting above her hips, there was no way her legs could reach him. His face was too far away, and pulling at his hands wouldn’t work either. Most of what Lincoln taught her relied on getting a pain response from your attacker, but this was something completely new. A soldier who doesn’t feel pain? No wonder he was so highly decorated. Clarke surreptitiously patted the floor beside her; when Shumway threw her down, they had landed close to her bow. If only she could just get to an arrow…

Black spots appeared in her vision as Shumway smirked above her, and Clarke felt the feathered fletching of an arrow just within her reach. As she grasped for it, he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “They say if you kill a demigod you gain their powers. I wonder what you’ll be able to do for me, Daughter of Apollo. If what I hear about you is true, I’ll be unstoppable.”

The arrow rolled between her fingers, and she pictured him losing consciousness as she jammed it into the side of his neck. “I don’t think so.” She said, rolling his limp body off of her.

A shriek drew her attention to Octavia. Dax must have wriggled out of the headlock, and he was rearing his fist back to hit her. Acting on instinct, Clarke ran at him and jumped onto his back, distracting him from Octavia. He tried to claw at her face but Clarke dodged his hands. Instead, he deliberately and unceremoniously dived backwards, making sure Clarke hit the ground first. The fall winded her and as she loosened her grip, Dax started to rise. Grabbing his hand, she swung her legs round his arm and slammed him back down to the floor, pinning him in an arm bar. With a buck of her hips upwards, she heard his arm snap and Dax roared in pain. Octavia tossed her an arrow, and she knocked Dax out just like Shumway.

Octavia extended a hand to help Clarke up, and they looked around the now empty room for Bellamy and Ares. “Where are they?” Clarke asked.

A crash of glass and metal answered her question – their brawl had moved to the kitchen. “Stay here!” She urged Octavia, picking up her bow and arrows.

She drew an arrow as she ran to the next room, where she found their fight had gone to the ground. Bellamy and Ares moved as one, seemingly equally matched, rolling over each other as they exchanged blows. Broken glass littered the floor, and Bellamy was bloody from the cuts. “Bellamy I can’t get a clean shot!” Every time she locked on to Ares, they were moving again – she couldn’t risk letting an arrow fly and it hitting Bellamy.

“Won’t get past his armour anyway!” He yelled between breaths, landing a solid punch to Ares’ face. “Get Octavia out of here!”

“I’m not leaving you!” No matter how good at hand-to-hand Bellamy was, he didn’t have the stamina of a God. He was already slowing down, and Clarke watched as Ares flipped him over and dealt a series of rapid blows directly to his head. She couldn’t watch this, she had to do something. Her dagger was missing from its holster, and she cursed when she realised they had left it at Bellamy’s. She ran a hand through her hair in frustration, one of the strands catching in the curls of her bracelet – _her bracelet!_ Dropping the bow, she traced a finger down the length of the snake wrapped around her wrist, praying to whichever God was listening that Apollo would come. Bellamy groaned in pain, and as Ares was about to strike again, Clarke lunged at him. Ignoring Bellamy’s shouts of protests, she grappled with Ares. Deep down she knew it would end badly for her, but all Clarke had to do was hold him off for a while. Ares knocked her off her feet and stood up, grabbing her side and sending her flying into the wall nearby as easily as someone might swat a fly. She felt the rack of hanging pots and pans dig in to her back, and she dislodged the knife rack on the way down, its contents clattering across the floor with a series of metallic clangs.

Ares smirked and picked up a butcher’s knife, advancing slowly towards her. She heard Bellamy cough and splutter, but she knew he was too injured to move. “I’m going to enjoy this.” 

“This is becoming a bad habit, brother. Demigods are low-hanging fruit, why don’t you fight someone who’s beaten you once already?” _Apollo!_ Clarke exhaled in relief, finding her birth father standing behind Ares, chest jutted out and weapon drawn.

“Did someone go crying to daddy?” Ares mocked with a sidelong glance at Clarke. “Put your bow down, Apollo, let’s settle this like Gods.” 

“I thought you’d never ask.” With a confident smile, Apollo tossed his bow and quiver to Clarke. “I’ll take it back when we’re finished. Get your friends out of here.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Bellamy was already straining to sit up, and after Clarke grabbed the weapons, she put one of his arms over her shoulder to help him up. Together, they limped out of the room and back to Octavia while the sounds of fighting erupted from the kitchen. The unconscious bodies of Dax and Shumway still lined the floor, and Octavia rushed to help Bellamy climb over the debris the struggle had left behind. “Oh my God, Bellamy, your face! Are you okay?”

Bellamy mumbled and spluttered out a bloody cough. Clarke answered instead. “Ares got him pretty badly, I need to heal him. He’s too weak to walk like this and it’s not safe here.”

The girls set him down gently, and as Clarke cupped his face to get a better look at his injuries, he pushed her arms away. “I know it hurts, I just need to do this to help you. You’re covered in blood, your eye is swollen shut and you could have some internal damage. Let me heal you.”

He shook his head, pointing to Octavia. “ _Her… first_.”

Clarke’s head whipped around to face Octavia, who looked surprised. “Bell I’m fine, look at yourself!”

Studying Octavia further, Clarke realised what Bellamy was talking about. “No, you’re not. Octavia, your neck…” the outline of Dax’s hand was clearly visible around her throat; a perfect handprint lined with red. It was already starting to bruise blue at the edges. “Let me fix you up, he won’t let me heal him unless you’re okay.”

With a conflicted sigh, she relented and let Clarke take her hand. Closing her eyes to help focus, she envisioned the bruising around Octavia’s neck dissipating, and the minute tears in the cellular structures of her throat repairing. Once satisfied, she opened her eyes to see Octavia lightly touching her neck, her mouth hanging open. “I’m never gonna get used to that.”

Now that Octavia was settled, Clarke brought her hands back to Bellamy. “No, now you.” He protested, shaking his head.

“It doesn’t work like that,” she lied, “I can’t heal myself.” Octavia’s eyebrow quirked for a fraction of a second, but she said nothing.

He hesitated, then nodded, giving her permission to work. Chiron had been helping her practice a new variation on her abilities that came in handy at the clinic. They had discovered that if Clarke didn’t know what was wrong, she could seek out and sense injuries in a person if they had skin-to-skin contact. Taking Bellamy’s hands, she sent out her feelers like microscopic sensors into his body, detecting any trauma or abnormalities. His heart was racing, she felt that first. Clotting factors in his blood had spiked, so she knew he had severe cuts. When the full-body check was complete, Clarke set to work on his injuries. Three bruised ribs, a cracked knuckle, lacerated spleen, punctured lung, a black eye, a hairline fracture to the skull and multiple superficial wounds – she was surprised he was still breathing. The bounding pulse slowed as she worked, and as it settled into a healthy rhythm, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

“ _Clarke,_ ” Octavia whispered. “ _Listen._ ”

Silence.

“I don’t hear anything.”

“ _Shhh! Exactly. The fighting stopped. Somebody won_.”

All three of them tensed, Bellamy catching his breath and standing up. He signalled for the girls to stay behind him as he crept towards the kitchen, peering cautiously through the crack in the door.

A figure walked through the doorway and he jumped back, doubling over in relief when he saw who it was. “Apollo, thank the Gods.”

“You’re welcome. Ares disappeared when he realised he was losing, but I can take the other two back to Olympus and Zeus can deal with them.” He took in the state of the living room, noticing the gold-tipped arrows in the men, and raised his eyebrows. “Are they alive?”

“Yeah, just knocked out,” Clarke explained. “I couldn’t bring myself to do anything more.”

“You took down two of Ares’ soldiers, just the three of you?” He asked.

“Just the two of them, actually.” Bellamy interjected. “I was with Ares the whole time, Clarke and Octavia handled them on their own.”

A smile threatened at Apollo’s lips. “That’s my girl. And Octavia, I’ve never seen a human handle this so well. Wherever they are, I’m sure your parents are proud of you. I’ll take care of the mess here, you three get somewhere safe.”

Bellamy nodded and motioned for the girls to huddle around him as Apollo started moving the bodies. “This place isn’t safe anymore. Now that Ares knows where you live, you two need to stay somewhere I can keep an eye on you; I have a spare room at my place. I know it’s not ideal, it’ll be cramped with the three of us there, but I think it’s the best—”

“Um, actually, I think I have a better idea.” Octavia interjected. “Lincoln told me that if I ever needed it, he would take me in. He has this place, totally off the grid, and if the worst came to the worst he’s an incredible fighter. I can stay with him.”

Bellamy froze. “Lincoln? The Son of Athena?” His eyes flitted to Clarke for a moment, then back to Octavia. “Why would he offer to do that? We barely know anything about him – hell, I don’t even know his last name!” 

Octavia considered that. “I mean I guess that’s kinda the point. Even I don’t know his last name, and I’m his girlfriend.”

Clarke had never seen Bellamy look more like a deer in headlights. “You’re his _what?_ O, this is insane, we’re fighting for our lives and you’re trusting an _outsider_ with your life?”

If he thought Clarke would jump in to back him up, he was wrong. “He’s not an _outsider_ , Bellamy, he’s my friend! You may not see it that way, but you haven’t met him! I’ve seen the way he is with Octavia; he would never hurt her. I would trust him with my life. Octavia obviously would too. If you won’t take her word for it –” 

“ _Which you should,_ ” Octavia interrupted.

“–then take mine.”

He held her gaze for a long moment, weighing up the sincerity in her eyes. All his life it had been drilled into him: _his sister, his responsibility_. But she wasn’t the same little girl that used to chase butterflies in the woods by their old house; she was a fighter, and she proved that tonight. There was something deep inside him that urged him to give in, at least just this once, and let her do this on her own. He shifted on his feet and put a hands on his hips, cutting an authoritative stance. “Fine. But I don’t want to know where you’re going, so that I can’t let slip to Ares even if he’s being… persuasive. And tell Lincoln that if anything happens to you, him and I are gonna have problems.”

Octavia’s face lit up like a kid at Christmas and nodded eagerly, flashing a grin and a subtle wink at Clarke. “Three’s a crowd anyway, better you two stay together at Bell’s.”

A flicker of confusion crossed Clarke’s face at the suggestive glint in Octavia’s eyes; it made strategic sense for her and Bellamy to stay together, nothing more, right? _But if that’s true,_ a voice inside her head chimed, _then why is there a flutter in your chest?_

 

-

 

Lincoln had been frantic on the phone; a departure from his usual stoicism that shocked Clarke. He had come to pick Octavia up as fast as he could, only slowing down when he noticed Bellamy’s hardened gaze at him while Octavia packed her bags – an unspoken warning. _Look after my sister, or you’ll answer to me._ The men shook hands, as if in mental agreement of mutual respect, then Octavia took him by the hand and led him outside.

The walk back to Bellamy’s was longer than Clarke remembered, or maybe it was just the tension that hung in the air from the night’s events. Neither of them spoke, both still processing what had happened, and Clarke savouring the ache in her muscles. Sure, she could have healed herself, but as crazy as it seemed she actually relished the feeling. It reminded her of her life before any of this ever happened and drove home the impact of violence. Training with Lincoln and Chiron had made her so used to an instant fix to pain, but life wasn’t like that, not really. The fighting tonight had been brutal, and that wasn’t something to take lightly. Her actions had consequences, and tonight had proved that. They got lucky this time, and Clarke knew they needed to be more careful in the future.

Entering Bellamy’s apartment felt like walking in to a crime scene. The half-drunk champagne still lay abandoned on the countertop; splashes of wetness where the foam had sprayed still remained where they landed. Clarke spotted her knife by the champagne bottle and hastily put it back in its holster, feeling instant relief knowing it was back where it belonged. It was a stupid mistake leaving it behind, and it probably cost Bellamy some of the beating he took. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, the guilt of it weighing on her.

“Hey,” a soft voice interrupted her thoughts, and a warm hand fell on her shoulder. “This isn’t your fault. Don’t ever think that.”

Steadying herself with a deep breath, she looked up at him. “None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for me. So many people have suffered – Kane, my mom, now Octavia, and- and _you_. Bellamy, I can’t lose you.”

His face wrinkled in sympathy, and his hand travelled to her face, cupping her cheek. “All of us are okay, Clarke. We’re in this with you, we all chose this. Besides, it’s gonna take more than the God of War to stop me.” He chuckled lightly. “Although maybe I could use a break from keeping you alive.”

She knew it was a joke, but locked eyes with him intensely. “Thank you,” she said emphatically, “for keeping me alive.”

A tight smile settled into his face for a flash, and he nodded in acknowledgement. Stepping back, he eyed her injuries. Her neck was angry and bruised from where Shumway had strangled her, and as she shrugged off her coat he saw spots of red on her arms. “You’re bleeding.”

As he jogged to a cupboard searching for first aid supplies, Clarke searched her arms in disbelief. Bellamy was right, she had streaks of blood drying on her forearms, cuts scattered with the odd bit of broken glass. She hadn’t felt a thing; must be the adrenaline. “I guess I cut myself when Ares knocked me to the kitchen floor.”

He arrived back at her side holding a metal tin in one arm and used his other hand to guide her to the couch by the small of her back. She considered telling him she could heal it herself, but she didn’t want to get into an argument about how she should have healed herself before helping him back at the apartment, so she relented.

“This might sting a bit.” Bellamy opened a packet of disinfectant wipes, and Clarke chuckled.

“I’m a med student, Bellamy, I know how first aid works. I can do it myself if you’d like.”

He shook his head and continued. “Let me take care of you.”

Clarke didn’t respond, simply studying his face as he carefully cleaned her cuts and applied a dressing. His forehead creased in concentration, and Clarke found herself staring at the freckles scattered across his face like stars on a clear night’s sky, and imagined the constellations she could make if she joined them together. Beautiful.

Catching herself from her train of thoughts, she changed topics to something that had been gnawing at the back of her mind – something Ares had said to him. “What’s the immersion chamber?”

He froze, the pressure of the wipe stinging her skin where he held it. He sighed lightly, lowering his head a touch before meeting her eyes. “Back at Ares’ compound, where he trains his soldiers, there’s a… _process_ you have to go through to rise up the ranks. A sort of test. If you pass, you get more gold, and I needed the money for Octavia. The physical side of it was fine, I can handle combat. But the mental test…” His eyes swam with emotion. Clarke had never seen him look so _sad_ ; it broke her heart. She placed a hand on his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. With a flicker of a half-smile aimed at her, he continued. “They wanted to make sure we wouldn’t crack under pressure. I was given a briefing for what sounded like a routine op, but they set it up so that I’d be captured and taken to what they call the immersion chamber. They interrogated me for 14 hours, trying to get me to reveal the information in my brief, give details about myself, about Ares. They did everything they could to try to break me. I still have the physical scars from the torture, but the worst part was what a Daughter of Ares did. She has the ability to make images appear in your head, anything she likes. The things she made me see… I still can’t talk about it. So when he said he wanted to take you and Octavia there, I – I didn’t know what to do.”

“Hey, you’re okay. We’re okay.” She pulled him in to a warm embrace, feeling his hot breath on her neck as he buried himself into her shoulder. His hands wrapped around her and she held him close, just staying there, together, for as long as he needed.

Eventually, he let out a breath and released himself from her arms. Inspecting her now bandaged wounds, he gave an approving look. “You’re all done.”

As he rose from his seat to put away the first aid kit, Clarke spoke. “Bellamy, I’m proud of you. I know it sounds silly, we didn’t meet all that long ago even though it feels like I’ve known you for years, but you’re so brave. So strong. And you give _all_ of yourself to the people you care about. You’re such a good person. I know Octavia doesn’t realise that sometimes but I see it in everything that you do.”

He studied her. “I feel the same way about you.” She stood and paced nearer to him. “When I first met you, honestly I thought you were some princess from the city who would just cause me a headache, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. Clarke, I-” he took a moment to choose his words. “I’ve never felt this intensely about someone this fast, but for some reason it doesn’t bother me, it just feels _right_. Like there’s this pull bringing us together, and I don’t feel like I can relax until I’m with you.”

Clarke’s eyes widened. “I feel it too, the pull. It’s like I can’t take a real breath until we’re together.”

He made strides towards her, slowing as she reached her hands to his head, trailing up from his neck to bury her fingers in his hair. This time, she initiated the kiss. Bolder now than their first, there was no hesitation. They knew the comfort of each other’s lips, and Clarke relished the taste of him on her tongue. His hands fell down to cup the backs of her thighs, lifting her up and she circled her legs around his waist as he walked them towards his bedroom. He set her down gently on the bed, breaking apart to ask “Are you okay with this? We can go as slow as you want.” 

“I want you,” she breathed. “All of you.”

Her words elicited something akin to a growl from the back of Bellamy’s throat, and he whipped off his shirt. Clarke had to snap herself out of the daze the sight of his chest put her in – this boy did things to her she hadn’t even felt as a lovestruck teenager. She barely noticed the scars on his chest and shoulders, but it didn’t bother her regardless. For all she cared he could be head to toe in them, but as long as he was the same Bellamy – _her_ Bellamy – she would feel just the same way.

He found the hem of her shirt, helping it over her head with extra care over her bandages, and their lips reconnected. She bucked her hips upwards into his as she shimmied off her jeans, causing him to groan. Eager to feel him against her, she helped him remove his own and soon he had them both under the covers. Bellamy trailed gentle kisses down her breast, lightly sucking when he reached her nipple. His hands explored the band of her underwear, gently pulling them away while the backs of his fingers still grazed against her. It set fire to her skin, and she squirmed underneath him, desperate for his touch. She pulled his head up to kiss him again, and when she felt his fingers inside her she gasped. The motion of his hands quickly turned the gasp into a moan, and the pleasure she felt was only clouded by the fact that she wanted this for him too.

“Bellamy, I need you.” She managed.

That was all he needed. The two of them fell into each other as naturally as old lovers do, fitting together perfectly as if they had done it a thousand times before. Their instincts led the way, and as the night turned black they reached their peak collapsed into each other, breathless, happy, and exhausted.

For some time, neither sure how long, they simply lay there, content in each other’s arms as their minds swam with bliss. Bellamy stroked Clarke’s hair, planting a chaste kiss to the top of her head as she rested on his chest. He broke the silence. “I guess we know why the Fates wanted us to meet.”

Clarke looked up at him, curious.

“You know I named my bar after Plato’s ‘The Symposium?’” He asked, and continued when Clarke responded with a puzzled glance. “He tells the story of the creation of man as we know it. Ancient Greek mythology says that humans were originally made with two heads, four arms, four legs. Sounds horrific, if you ask me, but apparently they were too strong. They were close to taking power from the Gods, so Zeus cut them in half to make the form we know today. Legend says these poor two-legged souls spend their whole lives searching for their other half, the other person that makes them whole. I think that’s why the Fates brought us together.”

“You mean we’re soulmates?” Clarke asked.

He paused. “Yeah. Yeah, I think we are.”

 _Soulmates._ It definitely explained the feelings Clarke had experienced over the time she knew him. She would happily lie in bed with him for the rest of her days if she could and felt safe in the knowledge that without needing to ask, she was certain he would do the same. Soulmates sounded good to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah I feel weird writing mature content, hope it was okay!
> 
> Thanks again to all of you who read this, it really means a lot, especially if you drop a comment! I love reading them. The fic is almost over! I only have 1 chapter planned to finish the whole story off but it may not be for a while due to life getting in the way again, but thank you so much for being so patient and I'll see you next time! xx


	11. Lyre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyre: a stringed instrument like a small U-shaped harp with strings fixed to a crossbar, used especially in ancient Greece.

Clarke woke with a start to the grating vibrations of her phone ringing against Bellamy’s wooden bedside table.

“Hello?” Her voice dripped with sleep as she answered. Morning light was beginning to shine through the gaps in the drapes by the window, but the clock above the dresser told Clarke it was a little after 6am. Too early. 

“Clarke, we found it.” Raven was never up this early unless it was important, and her words could only mean one thing.

“The lyre? Where?” She shook Bellamy awake as she answered; it seemed the boy could sleep through a warzone.

Annoyance flashed over his features before he took in Clarke’s expression: sharp, focused, and listening intently to the instructions being given over the phone. She mouthed to him, pretending to write something in the air. _Do you have a pen?_

He fumbled for a notepad and pen he kept by the bed, usually to keep track of things he needed to do during the day, or to make note of anything important to remember. Ripping off a clean page, he passed it to her. He watched intently as she scribbled down a series of numbers, and realised they were coordinates.

She said a quick thank you to Raven, before hanging up and grinning at Bellamy. “You up for a road trip?”

 

-

 

Within the hour, Bellamy was driving his Rover with Clarke giving directions. “Raven said the sea cave dries out at low tide, so we should get there while it’s accessible by land.” It seemed that the lyre was washed away that day at the beach, and the current carried it to a cave on the coast not far from Arkadia. She wondered how Poseidon never noticed such a powerful object drifting by right under his nose. “Just follow the Coast Road for the next few miles, I’ll give you a heads up when you need to turn.” Clarke tipped her head up from the map, resenting the fact that she couldn’t use her phone for navigation.

Bellamy eyed the map warily. “Tell me again why you need that thing? It’s taking up half the dash.”

“Apollo told Raven and Monty that the lyre can interfere with our phone’s location tracking software – apparently it was designed to stop humans stumbling across it accidentally, but it’s backfired on us a little. We need to do this the old-fashioned way.”

A low grumble escaped his lips. “I don’t like it. No phones, no tech – feels too cut off.” 

Clarke didn’t disagree. The pit in her stomach had only grown bigger over the course of their journey, and she glanced at the back of the Rover at the supplies they had brought with them. Her bow and arrows lay next to her dagger, and alongside Bellamy’s sword was a shield, the likes of which Clarke had only seen in history books. It was a stark contrast to their modern clothes, though they were dressed for combat. Running shoes with good grip, clothes that allowed them to move, and Clarke’s hair was tied away from her face in a braid down her back. She even had a leather arm guard and finger tab to protect her from the string of her bow, though her bracelet, as always, rested on her other arm. It gave her comfort knowing that she could call Apollo whenever she needed, so at least they weren’t totally alone.

“Left turn up ahead.” As Bellamy followed her instructions, she searched his face for any signs of regret. Despite the connection between them, Clarke wasn’t family, and he had no obligation to be here, especially when his own sister was at risk. Logically, she knew that the best thing for the Blakes would be to get as far away from her as possible, but here he was, by her side. She couldn’t help but feel like she was bad for him, that she would only bring him trouble. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I want you to know that you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. This isn’t your fight, it’s mine.”

As she finished her sentence, the road trailed off and Bellamy slowed to a stop. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m letting you do this alone.”

“Bellamy, if something happens to me-”

“ _Nothing_ is happening to you.” Losing it a little, he took her hand, needing to feel that she was there. He found comfort in the warmth of her palm, and the gentle squeeze she gave his hand in return grounded him to the spot. “If we do this, we do this together.” 

“Together.” They stayed like that for a moment, before Bellamy opened the door to get out and grab their gear. As he rummaged in the back, she took in their surroundings. The dirt road they were on ended rather abruptly over a cliff, overlooking the ocean. On any other day, Clarke might have stopped to appreciate the view; it was really rather breath-taking. The day was clear, the sun was shining, and seagulls circled the blue sky. But today, she was all business. If the coordinates were correct, the sea cave should be right around… _hmm._ Clarke laid the map and compass out over the hood of the Rover, checking the spot she had circled in Sharpie. 

“You sure we’re in the right place?” Bellamy called out when he saw her hunched over the car.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t make sense. It should be right there.” She pointed to a cliff face separated from their own by just a small strip of beach down below, but no breaks in the rock could have been the entrance to the cave. 

Bellamy followed her eyeline to the rocks, and the wind carried away his muttered curse. “Well, let’s go check it out.”

 

-

 

The walk down had been tricky; steep drops and loose rocks made it hard to know where to plant their feet, and they had their fair share of stumbles. It certainly wasn’t a graceful descent, but the area was isolated enough that no one was around to see it. As their feet hit sand, they caught their breath and gazed up at the sheer cliff face towering above them like a skyscraper.

“See those cracks there?” Bellamy pointed to the cliff. “Looks like falling rocks caved in the entrance. There’s no way we can get through all that.” Disappointment settled over his features, his lips in a tight line.

Taking a few steps forward, Clarke refused to give up. She examined the scene with her God’s eye, hoping it would reveal a doorway, but nothing changed in her vision. There were no supernatural forces at play blocking the entrance; just bad weather and worse luck. It would take a whole construction crew to blast through the rock, and they didn’t have the time or resources for that. Clarke spun on her heels, rubbing her temples in frustration. Silently communicating with Bellamy that she was out of ideas, her eyes landed on his sword. Must have been from his old days with Ares, locked away in some dark space in his apartment like a bad memory, but still available to use in case of an emergency. Looked like both of their fathers had a taste for fine weaponry. A lightbulb went off in her mind: they didn’t need a construction crew; they just needed an explosion. With a glimmer in her eye and a mischievous smile, she reached for her quiver and plucked out an arrow.

“What are you doing? Don’t waste your arrows, you can’t shoot through that.”

“I’m not trying to.” Clarke winked at him as she aimed. “We’re demigods, have a little faith.”

She let the arrow fly, and the image of the rocks blasting apart to reveal the mouth of the cave filled her mind. Once the arrow hit its mark, her vision came to life, and the controlled detonation sent rocks flying and the demigods ducking for cover. When the dust settled, the entrance revealed itself to them, the relative silence a stark contrast to the boom moments ago. The blast had of course sent the seagulls flying away, but the soft sound of the waves rolling in added a sense of calm despite the circumstances. It was beautiful here, the kind of place her parents would have brought her for a picnic on a summer day. She shook the thought out of her head and came back to reality as Bellamy gave her an impressed look before inspecting the cave.

“Into the mouth of the beast we go.” He said grimly, spinning the sword in his hand as he took his first steps towards the cave. Clarke tried to find the words to disagree with him, to sound less serious, but the dread crept back through her bones like a cold wind stealing the words from her mouth. Instead, she followed close behind him. 

Clarke had never been in a cave before, she had always thought of them as dank, musty pits filled with unpleasant creatures, but this cave surprised her. Wide spaces and walls almost as high as the cliff itself, she wondered how it stayed upright at all. It was as if the whole cliff face was hollowed out at this spot. Pools of water as big as ponds gathered underneath spots where water dripped from cracks overhead, forcing them to weave a path around them. “How deep does this go?” She asked, her voice bouncing across the walls. Even though they were alone, she felt the need to whisper.

“Only one way to find out. Stay sharp, the lyre could be anywhere.”

The light from the entrance was beginning to fade, but the sun seemed to be shining through holes in the roof of the cave, casting rays down to light their way. Clarke flicked her God’s eye open periodically as they walked, looking for some indication they were heading the right way, though admittedly she wasn’t sure what she was looking for. So focused on scanning her field of vision, her other senses took a back seat until Bellamy stopped dead with his hand out, warning her to stop. Something was wrong. Her eyes darted around them, searching for a threat, instead only finding a vast open space in front of them, save for a small body of water being drip-fed by a stalactite. “What is it?”

He held up a finger, silencing her. “Do you hear that?” his voice was barely a murmur, and when the quiet echo faded, Clarke’s ears caught the hint of soft strings being played, a melody drifting towards them, calm and sweet. It wasn’t a tune she recognised, but Bellamy definitely wasn’t imagining it. The lyre.

She nodded to him, confirming she could hear it too. “Where’s it coming from?”

His face twisted. “Hard to say. Sound travels differently in a cave; it could be anywhere. At least we know we’re in the right place. Just tread carefully.”

With a bleak nod, she lifted her God’s eye permanently now, being sure to stay alert. As they made their way further into the cave, the music seemed to be getting louder. She took it as a good sign, though the two still exchanged wary looks. Someone had to be playing the lyre, which meant they weren’t alone. Just before a narrowing of the space, some large rocks caused them to twist their path like a ski slalom Clarke might have done in the winter. Her eyes stayed mainly focused by their feet, plotting their course up ahead, but as her gaze flicked upwards for a beat, she gasped and dived for Bellamy, pushing them both behind one of the rocks for cover. He looked at her as if she had grown three heads and opened his mouth to complain, but she put a finger to her lips, silencing him urgently. The fear in her eyes must have come across, as his expression softened, but he still looked for an explanation. She pulled him close to whisper in his ear, not wanting to risk her voice projecting and reaching unwanted ears. “There’s a _thing_ up ahead in that narrowing, it’s…” she couldn’t find the words. “Didn’t you see it?”

He shook his head, before carefully risking a peek up ahead. Clarke watched his head pop above the rock for a flash before coming back to meet her eyes, confused. “There’s nothing there.”

“What?” Clarke glanced back at the creature she saw a moment ago and saw it still standing exactly where it was, heaving with each breath, releasing tendrils of steam from its snout as it exhaled. It stood still, seeming to sway in time with the soft music still rolling throughout the cave, transfixed. She ducked back under. “It’s right there, use your God’s eye.”

“My what?” He made a face. _Did he not believe her?_ The thought stung. “Look, I don’t know what that is – if it’s something Chiron taught you, I can’t do that. If you say something’s there I believe you, but I can’t see it.” 

That threw her through a loop. Clarke had assumed all demigods could see through magic, but maybe it was exclusive to the descendants of certain gods. She wracked her brain, trying to remember Chiron’s lessons and her own research over the last several weeks, and the pieces fell into place. Hermes was the god of trickery of course, so his children were the best at discerning what was real and what was not. Athena was the goddess of wisdom, so once one of her children understood how a spell or trick worked, they would be able to see past it – that explained how Lincoln could let himself into the Gymnasium. But one of Apollo’s callings was that of truth, and so his children were granted the ability to see everything in its true form whenever they chose, if only they knew how to see with their God’s eye. She cursed herself for not figuring this out, and Chiron for not making it clear.

“Tell me what you see.” He prompted. “We’ll figure this out.” 

She popped her head up once more. “It’s… it’s pretty big. Maybe seven or eight feet tall, but it’s hard to tell from this far away. Two legs, huge muscles, sort of like a man but covered in a dark pelt, and it has hooves, and its head…” She ducked back down to meet Bellamy’s eyes. “It looks like the head of a bull.”

His face fell. “Minotaur.” With a sigh, he continued. “Doesn’t make sense. We’re in a cave, not a labyrinth. Why would a minotaur be here?”

“Someone put it here. Someone knew we were coming.” Unbeknown to the two demigods, while they spoke, the string music had been gradually increasing in pace, in increments so small it escaped their notice, until the rapid string plucking became harsher and grating, the sounds no longer calm but harried, piercing, and the melody sounded less like a lullaby and more like a war cry. A guttural growl erupted from ahead of them, animalistic but with a hauntingly human quality to it, like a scream muffled by a roar. It sounded like someone being eaten alive. Clarke’s voice shook, pitch up nearly a full octave as she whispered a plea. “Did you hear that?”

Bellamy’s grip tightened on his sword. “Yeah.” His reply was barely audible. How exactly he was going to fight a beast he couldn’t see was a problem Clarke didn’t want to think about. Any hope of sneaking past the minotaur unnoticed was dashed as soon as the music turned. The change of pace meant that whoever was controlling the lyre, and by extension, the minotaur, knew they were there. To add insult to injury, Clarke could hear a hoof scraping the sand back, as if it was preparing to charge. She nocked an arrow in preparation, and shot a look at Bellamy to silently tell him to get ready.

“They know we’re here. We’ve got no chance backed into a corner like this, we need to get to the open space there. I’ll be your eyes; I’ll tell you where to swing your sword.” She waited for him to nod a confirmation before she continued. “Run on three. One, two, three!” 

Together, they sprinted to the centre of the open space they had walked through moments ago, every step drowned out by the lyre’s music sounding increasingly agitated. Another screech from the minotaur as it spotted them and followed after them, leaving hoofprints in the damp sand as it approached. “Talk to me, where is it?” Bellamy stood to her right, placing his shield evenly between them and his sword firmly in his other hand, eyes rapidly searching the area.

“See the tracks in the sand? At your 10 o’clock, aim high.” She quickly rattled off the instructions as it ran nearer to them, the aim of her own arrow locked on to its target. “Now!”

Bellamy swiped at the beast, his sword cutting a shallow graze but enough to draw blood, the red smearing across his blade. The minotaur let out a violent squeal in response and reared back a muscular arm to knock him aside in retaliation. Clarke let her arrow fly to protect him, only to find the flash of gold to bounce straight off its hide; too tough for the arrow to pierce the skin. Without anything to stop the momentum and too late to warn him, the monster’s arm hit Bellamy like a train, sending him skidding to the ground several metres away.

“Bellamy!” Clarke screamed in panic. The minotaur got down on all fours and charged after him. She tossed the bow to the ground, no use to her now, and grabbed her knife from its holster. It felt strange to be relying on an Ares-made weapon, but now was no time to be picky. She raced towards Bellamy, who was standing now, though limply, with his eyes trained on the ground. He was looking at the hoofprints, gauging the distance and speed of the creature coming for him. Cutting it far too close for Clarke’s comfort, he suddenly dived to the side, leaving the minotaur to crash into the wall of the cliff behind him. Clarke twitched a smile at his cleverness, using the minotaur’s own weight against it, but stood still as loose rocks fell from the now shaking roof of the cliff, struggling with the impact of the heavy beast. “Its horn is stuck in the wall.” She commented as she reached his side, eyes still trained on the minotaur. It was pulling against the cliff, one of its horns lodged deep in the crack between two stones. The beast was frenzied, trying to leverage a hoof against the wall, scrambling with its human-like arms. “Stay here.”

Bellamy’s protest fell on deaf ears as Clarke saw an opportunity. She sprinted towards the minotaur, knife raised high, and used a nearby rock as a stepping stone as she launched herself into the air and onto its back. The side of its neck exposed, she plunged the dagger down to the hilt and it let out a gruesome screech of pain and anger. She reached for the knife to pull it out and stab again, but the attack seemed to give the minotaur the burst of strength it needed to free itself from the wall, and just as she snatched the knife from its skin, the sudden movement knocked the weapon from her hands and sent it clattering to the ground. Now she was barely hanging on to the minotaur at all, frantically gripping it for dear life. Bellamy saw her moving in mid-air, seemingly holding on to nothing, but now he had something to aim at. “Hey!” He shouted, banging his sword against his shield to make noise. “Over here, come get me!”

He was trying to distract the minotaur, stop it from shaking a now weaponless Clarke off its back. It worked. A new, easier target was in its sights. It hunched on to all fours again, hurtling itself towards him as fast as it could. There was no time for Clarke to object; before she knew it she and the minotaur were leaping through the air, landing right on top of Bellamy and the sword he was holding up above him. She felt the creature sink onto the blade and heard its cry, and she knew it was badly injured, but it wouldn’t go down that easy. Bellamy cried out in pain under the weight of the minotaur, and its fists pounded at him mercilessly, its gnashing teeth unnervingly close to his head. Clarke clambered higher up the minotaur’s back and peered over its shoulder, desperate to help Bellamy, and she gasped at the pool of blood underneath them. She wasn’t sure how much of it was the minotaur’s and how much of it was Bellamy’s, but she had to do something. He was getting visibly weaker, coughing up blood, and breaths becoming shallower as his lungs struggled to inflate. She had no bow, no dagger, no weapon at all, until the faintest of ideas formed in her head.

“Sorry, big brother.” She muttered as she yanked the necklace from around her neck, gripping the silver Rod of Asclepius charm in her fist before plunging it into the minotaur’s eye as hard and as far as she could. The monster bucked upwards, sending her careening off its back as it stumbled backwards. Clarke watched as the beast stiffened, the charm deep enough in its eye socked that it must have hit the brain, and it collapsed in a heap. Dead.

Her attention now on Bellamy, she crawled to his side. He wasn’t breathing. “No… no!” After a futile attempt to shake him awake, training overtook shock and she interlocked her fingers, pushing down hard and fast on his chest. Suddenly she was back in that exam hall with Jackson on the day everything changed. Only this time, there were no beating monitors. There were no drugs. There was no defibrillator. There was no help. Counting off thirty pumps to his chest, she tilted his head back and blew two breaths into his mouth, her lips sealing around his, familiar but alien. “Come on, Bellamy. You’re a Son of Ares, you’re a fighter, so get up and fight!” She continued CPR and tried to visualise him healing, but intrusive memories invaded her thoughts. The scowl on his face when they first met. Bonding over Cage’s attack. Their flammable first kiss. Him patching up her wounds after the confrontation with Ares. The night they spent in his bed. Soulmates. 

Hot tears streamed down her cheeks, splashing onto his skin as she continues chest compressions. She pressed her lips to his again after another round of CPR, tasting her own salty tears as she did. In the pause between the two breaths, she heard the faintest gasp of air from Bellamy’s mouth. Startled, she pulled away and grasped his hand, checking his pulse at his neck. Slow. But there. She let out a laugh of joy, but only allowed herself a second as she shut her eyes and went back to work, this time not using science but her powers to speed up his recovery. Her focus was so intense that she didn’t open her eyes until his arms were around her, drawing her in to a relieved embrace. “You saved me.” His whisper filled his ear, and she pulled him in tighter.

“You saved _me._ ” She countered. “Are you okay? Can you stand?” 

“Yeah. Thanks to you.” They pulled apart as they stood, and Bellamy noticed Clarke discreetly wipe her eyes. “Did you cry for me?” He asked, lightly teasing.

She scoffed, hiding a smile. “Shut up.” 

Bellamy chuckled. “Maybe you’re like a Phoenix. Healing tears.” His suggestion caused Clarke to raise her eyebrows in surprise; maybe he wasn’t so far off base. “They’re associated with the Sun in Greek mythology, like your dad.”

Clarke’s mouth opened to respond, but instead she found herself groaning in pain as something sharp stabbed into her side. She clutched at it, looking down to see what looked like a silver spear sticking out of her abdomen. Bellamy’s hands were quick to wrap around the wound too, trying to slow the blood flow as he searched for who threw the speaker. Everything sounded muted to Clarke, the shock dampening down her senses, but she was aware of a faint slow clap bouncing off the walls of the cave, getting closer by the second.

“That was impressive. Really. And you two are just _adorable_.”

Clarke knew that voice. But it couldn’t be. Focusing on the spear again, she gritted her teeth and pulled it out of her side with a gasp to look at the design. The pain sent black spots clouding her vision, but as she blinked them away, she saw her suspicions confirmed. A silver rod, with a single snake curled around the tip. Just like the necklace she wore until minutes ago. Asclepius.

Her brother walked into the battleground, stopping just shy of the minotaur’s body.

“Asclepius?” Clarke tried to summon the effort to speak, but realised Bellamy was the one talking. “What are you doing here, where’s Ares? Where’s the lyre?”

Her hands returned to the wound as she surreptitiously began healing herself, still allowing Bellamy to prop her up to keep up appearances.

“ _Ares?_ You think that oaf is the one going after the lyre? No, no. It’s always been me.” The god reached into his pocket, producing a stringed instrument that exactly matched the description Apollo gave Raven and Monty. The lyre. “Who did you think was playing this just now?”

“But Ares attacked us! Twice!” Bellamy refuted.

“Tell me, Bellamy, in all the times you saw Ares, did he ever mention the lyre? Or was he just looking for you?”

The protest died on Bellamy’s lips as he absorbed what Asclepius said. It was true. Ares’ motivation in each encounter had always been about Bellamy. He speared Hermes for protecting him, before moving towards Bellamy. It was only Apollo’s presence that scared him away. The second time, he had broken into the apartment Octavia shared with Clarke; the two people Bellamy cared about most in the world. Ares wasn’t there to get the lyre from Clarke, he was there to use them as bargaining chips against him.

Though Bellamy was stunned into silence, Clarke’s head was swimming with questions. The wound was healing but the pain remained, and she struggled through her query. “Cage. What about Cage?” He was a Son of Ares who knew about the lyre and was willing to hurt Clarke to get it. 

Asclepius barked out a laugh. “Cage Wallace? You’ve met the man; do you really believe he has the charm to seduce an oracle?” As much as it hurt Clarke to admit it, he had a point. “It’s a cover story. I’m the one who told him about the lyre. He was one demigod from thousands, desperate to stand out to daddy. I pointed him in your direction.” 

“Why?” She coughed.

“Because Ares is the perfect scapegoat. Warmongering fool; he does idiotic things for power. Which of the Gods would believe him over me, the God of Medicine, if I say he forced me to play the lyre? Forced me to set a minotaur on my own sister, tragically killing her in the process? Shame your boyfriend killed it, I had to move on to Plan B.” Asclepius gestured to his bloodstained Rod lying on the floor by Clarke’s feet, not far from her own bow.

Bellamy snarled. “You son of a-”

“Why do you want me dead?” Clarke interrupted, falling to her knees in fake weakness. She was fully healed now, but it was vital she kept the element of surprise for what she had planned. Either Asclepius didn’t know or was too distracted to tell that she could heal her own injuries, and as far as Bellamy knew, she couldn’t fix herself. His reaction, getting on his knees with her to comfort her, helped sell the act. Exaggerating her breathing, she waited for a response. 

“Because you ruined everything!” Asclepius shouted in a fit of anger Clarke hadn’t seen since their first meeting. “Olympus was calm, we were at peace! I was the only one by Father’s side, and then suddenly everyone’s talking about _you._ But I see you for what you really are. You’re the cause of all the unrest among the Gods. You’re a cancer, Clarke Griffin. And you know what we do to cancer. We cut it out.” 

Anger flashed through her eyes, the façade gone. With venom, she bit back at him. “Damn right we do.” She dived the rest of the way to the ground for her bow, and in a flash, she sent an arrow straight for her brother’s heart. It would have been easy, she supposed, to kill him. But she refused to sink to his level. The image of him collapsing unconscious to the ground filled her head, and she watched him fall as she pictured. “You want dad’s attention?” She stood and walked over to Asclepius, as she trailed a finger over the design of her bracelet. “You got it.”

“Clarke? You’re okay?” Bellamy asked, rooted to the spot in shock.

“Sorry.” She shot him a sympathetic look. “I can heal myself, I just needed him to believe I couldn’t.”

Before he could reply, Apollo popped into view, taking in his new surroundings in confusion. In the lack of any active danger, he took stock of Clarke and Bellamy, before looking at the two bodies on the ground. A dead minotaur he looked at with surprise and confusion, and his son, Asclepius, who he moved to help. 

“Don’t.” Clarke stopped him, putting her hand on his arm. “It’s him. It was all him.”

When the shocked look wore off Apollo’s face, Clarke explained everything, and returned the lyre to him. “I’m so sorry, Clarke, for all this mess. I knew Asclepius had some anger issues, but I…” He sighed, shaking his head. “Maybe I should have seen this coming. It’s not the first time he’s angered another God, I’m sure you know about his spat with Hades a few millennia ago.” 

Clarke nodded. “Bellamy told me.”

“In any case, I’ll make sure he’s dealt with. I’m sure Zeus will have a suitable punishment for him – I’ll take him to Olympus now. Thank you for returning my lyre.” He took a step towards Asclepius before hesitating, his left foot hovering off the ground for a beat, before he redirected it towards Clarke and gathered her up in his arms, giving her a deep hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

She couldn’t help the smile spreading across her face as he released her. “Thanks, dad.”

The word seemed almost natural to her now, it had already slipped out a handful of times before this, and it stopped feeling like a betrayal to Jake a long time ago. Instead, it was an acknowledgement of her heritage, and of a new paternal figure in her life; a source of advice and protection should she ever need it. That being said, this was the first time she had ever called him ‘dad’ in person. She watched as his eyes flashed with surprise briefly, before the corners of his mouth tugged up subtly in a shy smile, as if trying to conceal how much the word affected him. His eyes gave it away though, shining a little brighter blue than usual, and wrinkling around the edges betraying affection. He gave her hand a parting squeeze before moving over to the still-unconscious Asclepius, transporting both of them back to Olympus where he would be tried and punished.

Bellamy gave her a moment to take everything in before speaking. “Are you okay?”

She paused, considering the question as she weighed up her emotions. “Yeah… yeah, actually, I am.” Any distress she felt at the situation was overshadowed by the relief that came with not having this Herculean task hanging over their heads any more. She was sure Bellamy felt the same; even before all this he was like Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. She hoped this lightened his load a little. “Are you?”

He pursed his lips. “Ares is still in the wind, but…” His lip twitched up. “You did good, Clarke. And I don’t know about you, but I think we deserve a drink.” 

She matched his smirk and began walking back the way they came. “Well it just so happens I know a great bar – and the owner is _really_ hot.” 

“Is that so?” He followed her.

“Oh yeah. He can be a total ass sometimes, but he’s easy on the eyes.”

He barked out a laugh. “Hey now, keep up that talk and I won’t give you any more free drinks.”

Clarke shot him a look. “You don’t give me free drinks.” 

“Fair point. I’ll make it up to you.”

“That reminds me…” she began, carefully choosing her words, suddenly sheepish as a blush crept up her cheeks. “There’s this event coming up in a few weeks, and I was hoping you might want to be my date.”

He flashed a toothy grin. “I’m in, Princess. I thought you’d never ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Octavia voice*: WE'RE BACK, BITCHES!!!
> 
> thank you thank you thank you SO much for your patience, life has been crazy! I hope this has satisfied the need for another chapter, all that's left is a very short final chapter/epilogue! as always, lots of love x


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